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ANDERSEN’S 


TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL OF 


HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 


as second-class matter. 


Copyright, leni by John W. 


HIW VorJC 




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ILOTH BINDING for this volume can be obtained ^rom any bookseller or newsdealer, price 15cts 








LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE 


1. Hyperion 20 

2. Outre-Mer 20 

3. The Happy Boy 10 

4. Anie 10 

5. Frankenstein 10 

6. TheLast of theMohicans.20 

7. Clytie 20 

A The Moonstone, Part 1 . 10 
9. The Moonstone, Part II. 10 

10. Oliver Twist 20 

11. The Coming Race 10 

12. Leila 10 

13. The Three Spaniards. . .20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks.20 

15. L’Abbe Constantin 20 

16. Freckles 20 

17. The Dark Colleen 20 

18. They were Married .... 10 

19. Seekers After God 20 

20. The Spanish Nun 10 

21. Green Mountain Boys. .20 

22. Fleurette 20 

23. Second Thoughts 20 

24. The New Magdalen 20 

25. Divorce 20 

26. Life of Washington 20 

27. Social Etiquette 15 

28. Single Heart, Double 

3 Face 10 

29. Irene ; or. The Lonely 

Manor 20 

30. Vice Versa 20 

31. Ernest Maltravers 20 

32. The Haunted House. ..10 

33. John Halifax 20 

34. 800 Leagues on the 

Amazon 10 

35. The Cryptogram 10 

36. Life of Marion 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. A Tale of Two Cities. . . • 20 

39. The Hermits 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, 

etc 

41. A Marriage in High Life2o 

42. Robin 20 

43. Two on a Tower 20 

44. Rasselas 10 

45. Alice ; a sequel to Er- 

nest Maltravers 20 

46. Duke of Kandos 20 

47. Baron Munchaiisen 10 

48. A Princess of Thule 20 

49. The Secret Despatch.. . .20 

50. Early Days of Christian- 
ity, 2 Parts, each 20 

51. Vicar of Wakefield. . . . . . 10 

52. Progress and Poverty. . .20 

53. The Spy 20 

■54. East Lynne 20 

55. A Strange Story 20 

56. Adam Bede, Part 1 15 

Adam Bede, Part II 15 

57. The Golden Shaft 20 

58. Portia 20 

59. Last Days of Pompeii. . . 20 

60. The Two Duchesses 20 

61. TomBrown’sSchoolDays.2o 

62. Wooing O’t, 2 Pts. each. 1 5 

63. The Vendetta 20 

64. Hypatia, Part 1 15 

Hypatia, Part II 15 


65. Selma .*•••^5 

66 . Margaret and her Brides- 
maids 20 

67. Horse Shoe Robinson, 

2 Parts, each 15 

68. Gulliver’s Travels 20 

69. Amos Barton 10 

70. The Berber 20 

71. Silas Marner 10 

72. Queen of the County . ..20 

73. Life of Cromwell 15 

74. Jane Eyre 20 

75. Child’sHist’ry of Engl’d. 20 

76. Molly Bawn 20 

77. Pillone 15 

78. Phyllis .20 

79. Romola, Part 1 15 

i;i Romola^ Part II 15 

80. Science in ShortChapters. 20 

81. Zanoni 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth 20 

83. Right and Wrong Uses of 

the Bible- 20 

84. Night and Morning, Ptl.is 
NightandMorning,Pt.II 15 

85. Shandon Bells 20 

86. Monica to 

87. Heart and Science 20 

88. The Golden Calf." 20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter.. .20 

go. Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

91. Pickwfick Papers, Part I ; 20 
Pickwick Papers,Part 1 1 . 20 

92. Airy, Fairy Lilian 20 

93. Macleod of Dare 20 

94. Tempest Tossed, Part 1 . 20 
Tempest Tossed, P’t 1 1 . 20 

95. Letters from High Lat- 

itudes 20 

96. Gideon Fleyce 20 

97. India and Ceylon... ....20 

98. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral’s Ward. ... 20 

100. Nimport, 2 Parts, each.. 15 

101. Harry Holbrooke. 20 

102. Tritons, 2 Parts, each .. 15 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay, to 

104. Lady Audley’s Secret ... 20 

105. Woman’s Place To-day. 20 

106. Dunallan, 2 parts, each. 15 

107. Housekeeping and Home 

making 15 

108. No New Thing. ... . ...20 

109. TheSpoopendykePapers.2o 

no. False Hopes 15 

111. Labor and Capital 20 

1 12. Wanda, 2 parts, egch ... 15 

1 13. More Words about Bible. 20 

114. Monsieur Lecocq, P’t. 1.20 
Monsieur Lecocq Pt.II.20 

1 15. An Outline of Irish Hist. 10 

1 16. The Lerouge Case 20 

1 1 7. Paul Clifford .... 20 

1 1 8. A New Lease of Life.. .20 

1 19. Bourbon Lilies 20 

120. Other People’s Money.. 20 

121. Lady of Lyons 10 

122. Ameline de Bourg 15 

123. A Sea Queen 20 

124. The Ladies Lindores. . .20 

12$, Haunted Hearts 10 

126. Loys, Lord Beresford...20 


I2(. 

129. 

130 


13 1' 
132. 


133 


t 34 

135 

136 
137 ' 
138, 

139 

140 

141, 

142. 


143- 

144. 


145 ' 


146. 

I 47 - 

148. 

149. 

150- 


151 ' 

152. 
IS 3 - 

153. 

154. 


iSS- 

156. 

I 57 ' 


158. 


I 59 « 

160. 

161. 

162. 

163. 

164. 

165. 

166. 


167. 

168. 

169. 

170. 

171. 

172. 
173 * 
174. 
175 - 

176. 

177. 

178. 

179. 

180. 

181. 

182. 

183. 

184. 

i8s. 


, Under Two Flags, Pt I. 20 
Under Two Flags, Pt II.20 

Money 

In Peril of His Life 20 

. India; What can it teach 
us? 20 

i ets and Flashes 20 

loonshine and Margue- 
rites 

Mr. Scarborough’s 
Family, 2 Parts, each . . 15 

Arden 15 

Tower of Percemont.. ..20 

. Yolande 20 

Cruel London 20 

The Gilded Clique 20 

Pike County Folks 20 

Cricket on the Hearth .. 10 

Henry Esmond 20 

Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

Denis Duval 10 

01 dCuriosityShop,P’t I. if, 
01 dCuriosityShop,P’rt II. 15 

Ivanhoe, Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, Part II 15 

White Wings 20 

The Sketch Book 20 

Catherine .... 10 

Janet’s Repentance . .... 10 
Bamaby Rudge, P.ir.t L. 13- 
Barnaby Rudge, Part II. 13 

Felix Holt 20 

Richelieu 10 

Sunrise, Part 1 15, 

Sunrise, Part II 15 

Tour of the World in 80 , 

Days 20 j 

Mystery of Orcival 20 

Lovel, the Widower 10' 

Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

DavidCopperfield,Part L20 r 
DavidCopperfield,P’rt 11.20 ) 

Charlotte Temple 10 ; 

Rienzi, 2 Parts, each ...15 j 
Promise of Marriage .... 10 

Faith and Unfaith 20), 

The Happy Man lo,. 

Bairy Lyndon 2c» 

Eyre’s Acquittal 

20,000 Leagues Under the 

Sea .2o| 

Anti-Slavery Days 20I 

Beauty’s Daughters 2< 

Beyond the Sunrise ?o 

Hard Times a i 

Tom Cringle’s Log 20- 

Vanity Fair 30' 

Underground Russis 2of 

Middlemarch, 2 Pts. iiach.20 
Sir Tom 20 


Pelham , . . . .20 * 

The Story of Ida.... ....loj 
Madcap Violet. 20 


The Little Pilgrim. . . . . . 10 

Kilmeny 20 

Whist, or Bumblepuf py ?.ic 
That Beautiful Wre;ch..2o 
Her Mother’s Sin......2QS 

Green Pastures, etc zoi 

Mysterious Island, ' t I > 1 sl 



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Price, 75c, per Bottle. Depot, 83 John St., N. Y, f 


FAIR FACES, 

And fair, in the literal and most pleasing sense, are 
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BUCHAN'S CARBOLIC TOILET SOAP 

This article, which for the past fifteen years has 
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A Manual of Hygiene for Women and tho Household. 

Illustrated. By Mrs. E. G. Cook, M. D. 

12mo, extra cloth, - ------ $1.50 

This new work has already received strong words of 
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HYGIENIC PUBLISHING CO., 91 T Broadway, New York, 
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ANDERSEN’S 


FAIRY tales. 


@Iran0lateb from tlje Cl^ngtnal 

OF 

HANS CHEISTIAN ANDERSEN. 


NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 


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CONTENTS. 


uai 

What the Moon Saw 9 

The Story of tete Yeah 50 

She was Good for Nothing 60 

There is a Difference” 69 

Evert Thing in its Right Peace 74 

The Goblin and the Huckster 84 

In a Thousand Years 88 

The Bond of Friendship 91 

Jack the Dullard. An Old Story told Anew 103 

Something 108 

Under the Willow-tree 116 

The Beetle 35 

9 

What the Old Man does is Always Right 115 

The Wind tells about Waldemar Daa and his Daughters 151 

Ib and Christine 165 

Ole the Tower-Keeper 180 

The Bottle-Neck 192 

Good Humor 205 


6 


CONTENTS 


A. Leaf from the Sky 209 

The Dumb Book 213 

The Jewish Girl 215 

The Thorny Road of Honor 221 

The Old GRAVESTOirs 226 

The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap 230 

The Marsh King’s Daughter 246 

The Last Dream of the Old Oak-tree. A Christmas Tale. 293 

The Bell-deep 299 

The Puppet Showman 303 

The Pigs 308 

A Story from the Sand-dunes 311 

The Bishop of Borglum and ms Warriors 353 

The Snow Man 860 

Two Maidens 360 

The Farmyard Cock and the Weathercock 369 

The Pen and Inkstand..... 373 

The CmLD in the Grate 375 


INTRODUCTION. 


It is a strange thing, that when I feel most fervently 
and most deeply, my hands and my tongue seem alike 
tied, so that I cannot rightly describe or accurately por- 
tray the thoughts that are rising within me ; and yet I am 
a painter ; my eye tells me as much as that, and all my 
friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the 
same. 

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of 
lanes ; but I do not want for light, as my room is high up 
in the house, with an extensive prospect over the neigh- 
boring r.Jofs. During the first few days I went to live in 
the towi"*, I felt low-spirited and solitary enough. Instead 
of the forest and the green hills of former days, I had here 
only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. And then 
had not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted 
me. 

So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding 
mood ; and presently I opened the casement and looked 
out Oh, how my heart leaped up with joy ! Here was a 
well-known face at last — a round, friendly countenance, 
the face of a good friend I had known at home. In fact, 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


it was the Moon that looked in upon me. He was quite 
unchanged, the dear old Moon, and had the same face 
exactly that he used to show when he peered down upon 
me through the willow-trees on the moor. I kissed my 
hand to him over and over again, as he shone far into mj 
little room ; and he, for his part, promised me that every 
evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me 
for a few moments. This promise he has faithfully kept. 
It is a pity that he can only stay such a short time when 
he comes. Whenever he appears, he tells me of one thing 
or another that he has seen on the previous night, or on 
that same evening. Just paint the scenes I describe to 
you” — this is what he said to me — “ and you will have a 
very pretty picture-book.” I have followed his injunction 
for many evenings. I could make up a new “Thousand 
and One Nights,” in my own way, out of these pictures, 
but the number might be too great, after all. The pictures 
I have here given have not been chosen at random, but 
follow in their proper order, just as they were described to 
me. Some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, 
may make something more of them, if he likes ; what I 
have given here are only hasty sketches, hurriedly put 
upon the paper, with some of my own thouglits inter- 
spersed ; for the Moon did not come to me every evening 
• — a cloud sometimes hid his face from me. 


ANDERSEN’S TALES, 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 

First Evening. 

Last night ” — I am quoting the Moon^s own words— 
“last night I was gliding through the cloudless Indian sky. 
My face was mirrored in the waters of the Ganges, and my 
beams strove to pierce through the thick intertwining 
boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like the tor- 
toise^s shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo maid, 
light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a 
vision, and yet sharply defined among the shadows, stood 
this daughter of Hindostan : I could read on her delicate 
brow the thought that had brought her thither. The thorny 
creeping plants had torn her sandals, but for all that she 
came rapidly forward. The deer that had come down to 
the river to quench their thirst, sprang by with a startled 
bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp, I 
could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread 
them for a screen before the dancing flame. She came 
down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the water, and 
let it float away. The flame flickered to and fro, and seemed 
ready to expire ; but still the lamp burned on, and the girfls 
black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind her long silken 

I* 


10 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity. She 
knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she 
could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive ; but if 
the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And 
the lamp burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees and 
prayed. Near her in the grass lay a speckled snake, but 
she heeded it not — she thought only of Bramah and her be- 
trothed. ‘ He lives I ' she shouted joyfully, ‘ he lives I ' And 
from the mountains the echo came back upon her, ‘he 
lives!’” 

Second Evening. 

Yesterday,” said the Moon to me, “ I looked down upon 
a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. In 
the courtyard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens ; 
and a pretty little girl was running and jumping around 
them. The hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread 
out her wings over the little brood. Then the girl’s father 
came out and scolded her ; and I glided away and thought 
no more of the matter. 

“ But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked 
down into the same courtyard. Every thing was quiet. But 
presently the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to 
the hen-house, pushed back the bolt, and slipped into the 
apartment of the hen and chickens. They cried out loudly, 
and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran 
about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them> I saw 
it quite plainly, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house 
wall. I was angry with the wilful child, and felt glad 
when her father came out and scolded her more violently 
than yesterday, holding her roughly by the arm : she held 
down her head, and her blue eyes were full of large 
tears. ' What arc you about here?’ he asked. tShe wept 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


1 


and said, ‘ I wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon foi 
frightening her yesterday ; but I was afraid to tell you.’ 

“ And the father kissed the innocent child’s forehead, 
and I kissed her on the mouth and eyes.” 


Third Evening. 

“ In the narrow street round the corner yonder — it is so 
narrow that my beams can only glide for a minute along 
the walls of the house, but in that minute I see enough to 
learn what the world is made of — in that narrow street I 
saw a woman. Sixteen years ago that woman was a child, 
playing in the garden of the old parsonage, in the country. 
The hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers were 
faded. They straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged 
branches grew up among the boughs of the apple-trees ; 
here and there were a few roses still in bloom — not so fair 
as the queen of flowers generally appears, but still they had 
color, and scent too. The clergyman’s little daughter ap- 
peared to me a far lovelier rose, as she sat on her stool 
under the straggling hedge, hugging and caressing her 
doll with the battered pasteboai-d cheeks. 

“ Ten years afterwards I saw her again. I beheld her in 
a splendid ballroom : she was the beautiful bride of a rich 
merchant. 1 rejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on 
calm quiet evenings — ah, nobody thinks of my clear eye 
and my silent glance I Alas I my rose ran wild, like the 
rose-bushes in the garden of the parsonage. There are 
tragedies in every-day life, and to-night I saw the last act 
of one. 

“ She was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street : 
she was sick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, 
and t<»re away the thin coverlet, lier only protection against 


Andersen’s tales. 


the cold. ‘ Get up I’ said he ; ‘ your face is enough to 
frighten one. Get up and dress yourself, give me moneys 
or ni turn you out into the street! Quick — get up V She 
answered, ‘ Alas I death is gnawing at my heart. Let me 
rest.^ But he forced her to get up and bathe her face, and 
put a wreath of roses in her hair ; and he placed her in a 
chair at the window, with a candle burning beside her, and 
went away. 

“ I looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with 
her hands in her lap. The wind caught the open window 
and shut it with a crash, so that a pane came clattering 
down in fragments ; but still she never moved. The cur- 
tain caught fire, and the flames played about her face ; and I 
saw that she was dead. There at the open window sat the 
dead woman, preaching a sermon against sin — my poor 
faded rose out of the parsonage garden 1” 


Fourth Evening. 

“ This evening I saw a German play acted,” said the 
Moon. It was in a little town. A stable had been turned 
into a theatre ; that is to say, the stable had been left stand- 
ing, and had been turned into private boxes, and all the 
timber work had been covered with colored paper. A little 
iron chandelier hung beneath the ceiling, and that it might 
be made to disappear into the ceiling, as it does in great 
theatres, when the ting-ting of the prompter’s bell is heard, 
a great inverted tub had been placed just above it. 

“ Ting-ting ! and the little iron chandelier slowly rose al 
least half a yard and disappeared in the tub ; and that was 
the sign that the play was going to begin. A young noble- 
man and his lady, who happened to be passing through the 
little town, were present at the nerformance, and conse 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


13 


qiiently the house was crowded. But under the chandelier 
was a vacant space like a little crater ; not a single soul 
sat there, for the tallow was dripping, drip, drip I I saw 
every thing, for it was so warm in tiiere that every loop* 
hole had been opened. The male and female servants stood 
outside, peeping through the chinks, although a real police- 
man was inside, threatening them with a stick. Close by 
the orcliestra could be seen the noble young couple in two 
old armchairs, which were usually occupied by his worship 
the mayor and his lady ; but these latter were to-day 
obliged to content themselves with wooden forms, just as 
if they had been ordinary citizens ; and the lady observed 
quietly to herself, ^ One sees, now, that there is rank above 
rank ; ^ and this incident gave an air of extra festivity to 
the wliole proceedings. The chandelier gave little leaps, 
the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and I, the Moon, was 
present at the performance from beginning to end.” 

Fifth Evening. 

Yesterday,” began the Moon, “ I looked down upon the 
tui'moil of Paris. My eye penetrated into an apartment of 
the Louvre. An old grandmother, poorly clad — she belonged 
to the working class — was following one of the under-ser- 
vants into the great empty throne-room, for this was the 
apartment she wanted to see — ^that she was resolved to see ; 
it had cost her many a little sacrilico, and many a coaxing 
word, to penetrate thus far. She folded her thin hands, and 
looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been 
in a church. 

“‘Here it was, ^ she said, ‘herel^ And she approached 
the throne, from which hung the rich velvet fringed with 
gold lace. ‘There, ’ she exclaimed, ‘ there !’ and she knelt and 


14 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


kissed the purple carpet. I think she was actually weep 
ing. 

* But it was not this very velvet ! ^ observed the foot* 
man, and a smile played about his mouth. ‘ True, but it 
was this very place,’ replied the woman, ‘ and it must have 
looked just like this.’ ‘ It looked so, and yet it did not,’ 
observed the man : ‘ the windows were beaten in, and the 
doors were off their hinges, and there was blood upnn the 
floor.’ ‘ But for all that you can say, my grandson died 
upon the throne of France. Died I’ mournfully repeated 
the old woman. I do not think another word was spoken, 
and they soon quitted the hall. The evening twilight faded, 
and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich velvet that 
covered the throne of France. 

“ Now who do you think this poor woman was ? Listen, 
I vill tell you a story. 

“It happened in the Revolution of July, on the evening 
of tlie most brilliantly victorious day, when every house 
was a fortress, every window a breastwork. The people 
stormed the Tuileries. Even women and children were to 
be found among the combatants. They penetrated into the 
apartments and halls of the palace. A poor half-grown 
boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents. 
Mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts, he sank 
down. This happened in the throne-room. They laid the 
bleeding youth upon the throne of France, wrapped the 
velvet around his wounds, and his blood streamed forth 
upon the imperial purple. There was a picture ! the splen- 
did hall, the fighting groups ! A torn flag lay upon the 
ground, the tricolor was waving above the bayonets, and 
on the throne lay the poor lad with the pale glorified coun- 
tenance, his eyes turned towards the sky, his limbs wish- 
ing in tlie death-agony, his breast bare, and his poor tab 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


16 


tered clothing^ half hidden by the rich velvet embroidered 
with silver lilies. At the boy^s cradle a prophecy had been 
spoken: ‘He will die on the throne of France T The 
mother’s heart dreamt of a second Napoleon.' 

“ My beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his 
grave ; and this night they kissed the forehead of the old 
grandame, while in a dream the picture floated before her 
which thou mayst draw — the poor boy on the throne of 
France.” 

SiyiH Evening. 

“ I’ve been in Upsala,” said the Moon : “ I looked down 
upon the great plain covered with coarse grass, and upon 
the barren fields. I mirrored my face in the Tyris river, 
while the steamboat drove the fish into the rushes. Beneath 
me floated the waves, throwing long shadows on the so- 
called graves of Odin, Thor, and Friga. In the scanty turf 
that covers the hill-side names have been cut.* There is 
no monument here, no memorial on which the traveller can 
have his name carved, no rocky wall on whose surface he 
can get it painted ; so visitors have the turf cut away 
for that purpose. The naked earth peers through in the 
form of great letters and names ; these form a network 
over the whole hill. Here is an "immortality, which lasts 
till the fresh turf grows I 

“ Upon the hill stood a man, a poet. He emptied the 
mead horn with the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. 
Ho begged the winds not to betray him, but I heard the 
name. I knew it. A count’s coronet sparkles above it, and 

* Travellers on the Continent have frequent opportunities of seeing how 
universally this custom prevails among travellers. In some places on the 
Rhine, pots of paint and brushes are olFerod by the natives to the travellei 
desirous of “ immortalizing” himself. 


16 


Andersen’s tales. 


therefore he did not speak it out. 1 smiled, for 1 knew that 
a poet’s crown adorns his own name. The nobility cf 
Eleanora d’Este is attached to the name of Tasso. And 1 
also know where the Rose of Beauty blooms 1” 

Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May 
m) cloud separate the poet from the rose. 

Seventh Evening. 

‘‘Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of 
firs and beeches : and fresh and fragrant is this wood ; 
hundreds of nightingales visit it every spring. Close be- 
side is the sea, the ever-changing sea, and between the two 
is placed the broad high-road. One carriage after another 
rolls over it ; but I did not follow them, for my eye loves 
best to rest upon one point. A Hun’s Grave * lies there, 
and the sloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the 
stones. Here is true poetry in nature. 

“ And how do you think men appreciate this poetry ? I 
will tell you what I heard there last evening and during 
the night. 

“ First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 
‘ Those are glorious trees 1’ said the first. ‘ Certainly ; 
there are ten loads of firewood in each,’ observed the other; 
‘ i t will be a hard winter, and last year we got fourteen dol- 
lars a load’ — and they were gone.. ‘The road here is 
wretched,’ observed another man who drove past. ‘ That’s 
the fault of those horrible trees,’ replied his neighbor ; 
‘ there is no free current of air ; the wind can only come 
from the sea’ — and they were gone. The stage coach went 
rattling past. All the passengers were asleep at this beau- 

* Large mounds, similar to the “ barrows ” found in Britain, are thus 
designated in Germany and the North. 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


17 


tiful spot. The postillion blew his horn, but he only thought, 

‘ I can play capitally. It sounds well here. I wonder if 
those in there like it?' — and the stage-coach vanished. 
Then two young fellows came galloping up on horseback. 
There's youth and spirit in the blood here I thought I ; and, 
indeed, they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill 
and thick forest. ‘ I should not dislike a walk here with 
the miller's Christine,' said one — and they flew past. 

“ The flowers scented the air ; every breath of air was 
hushed : it seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky 
that stretched above the deep valley. A carriage rolled by. 
Six people were sitting in it. Four of them were asleep ; 
the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat, which would 
suit him admirably ; the sixth turned to the coachman and 
asked him if there were any thing remarkable connected 
with yonder heap of stones. ‘ No,' replied the coachman, 
* it's only a heap of stones ; but the trees are remarkable.’ 
‘lluw so ?' ‘ Why, I’ll tell you how they are very remark- 

able. You see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep, 
and has hidden the whole road so that nothing can be seen, 
those trees serve me for a landmark. I steer by them, so, 
as not to drive into the sea ; and you see that is why the 
trees are remarkable.' 

“ Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his 
eyes sparkled. He began to whistle. At this the night- 
ingales sang louder than ever. ‘ Hold your tongues 1' he 
3 ried testily ; and he made accurate notes of all the colors 
and transitions — blue, and lilac, and dark brown. ‘ That will 
make a beautiful picture,' he said. He took it in just as a 
mirror takes in a view ; and as he worked he whistled a 
march of Rossini. And last of all came a poor girl. She 
laid aside the burden she parried, and sat down to rest iipo.u 
the Hun's Grave. Her pale, handsome face was bent in a 
B 


18 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


listening attitude towards the forest. Her eyes brightened, 
she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her hands were 
folded, and I think she prayed, ‘ Our Father.’ Slie herself 
could not understand the feeling that swept through her, 
but I know that this minute, and the beautiful natural scene, 
will live within her memory for years, far more vividly aiu 
more truly than the painter could pbrtray it with his colors 
on paper. My rays followed her till the morning dawn 
kissed her brow.” 

Eighth Evening. 

Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not 
make his appearance at all. I stood in my little room, more 
lonely than ever, and looked up at the sky where he ought 
to have shown himself. My thoughts flew far away, up to 
my great friend, who every evening told me such pretty 
talcs, and showed me pictures. Yes, he has had an expe- 
rience indeed. He glided over the waters of the Deluge, 
and smiled on Noah’s ark just as he lately glanced down 
upon me, and brought comfort and promise of a new world 
that was to spring forth from the old. When the Children 
of Israel sat weeping by the waters of Babylon, he glanced 
mournfully upon the willows where hung the silent harps. 
When Romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise of true 
love fluttered like a cherub towards heaven, the round Moon 
hung, half hidden among tire dark cypresses, in the lucid 
air. He saw the captive giant at St. Helena, looking from 
the lonely rock across the wide ocean, while great thoughts 
swept through his soul 1 Ah 1 what tales the Moon can 
tell. Human life is like a story to him. To-night I shall 
not see thee again, old friend. To-night I can draw no pic- 
ture of the memories of thy visit. And as I looked dreamily 
towards the clouds, the sky became bright. There was a 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


19 


glancing liglit, and a'beam from the Moon fell upon me. It 
vanished again, and dark clouds flew past : but still it was 
a greeting, a friendly good-night offered to me by the Moon. 

Ninth Evening. 

Tlie air was clear again. Several evenings had passed, 
and the Moon was in the first quarter. Again he gave me 
an outline for a sketch. Listen to what he told me. 

“ 1 have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale 
to the eastern coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks 
and dark clouds hung over a valley, where dwarf willows 
and barberry bushes stood clothed in green. The blooming 
lychnis exhaled sweet odors. My light was faint, my face 
pale as the water-lily that, torn from its stem, has been 
drifting for weeks with the tide. The crown-shaped North- 
ern Light burned fiercely in the sky. Its ring was broad, 
and from its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts 
of fire across the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance 
from green to red. The inhabitants of that icy region were 
assembling for dance and festivity ; but accustomed to this 
glorious spectacle, they scarcely deigned to glance at it. 
‘ Let us leave the souls of the dead to their ball-play with 
the heads of the walruses,’ they thought in their supersti- 
tion, and they turned their whole attention to the song and 
dance. In the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry 
cloak, stood a Greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played 
and sang a song about catching the seal, and the chorus 
around him chimed in with ‘ Eia, Eia, Ah.^ And in their 
white furs they danced about in the circle, till you might 
fancy it was a polar bear’s ball. 

And now a Court of Judgment was opened. Those 
Greenlanders who had quarrelled stepped forward, and the 


20 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


offended person chanted forth the faults of his adversary’ in 
an extempore song, turning them sharply into ridicule, to 
the sound of the pipe and the measure of the dance. The 
defendant replied with a satire as keen, while the audience 
laughed, and gave their verdict. The rocks heaved, the 
glaziers melted, and great masses of ice and snow came 
crashing down, shivering to fragments as they fell : it wa^ 
a glorious Greenland summer night. A hundred paces 
away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. . Life 
still flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die 
— he himself felt it, and all who stood around him knew it 
also ; therefore his wife was already sewing round him 
the shroud of furs, that she might not afterwards be obliged 
to touch the dead body. And she asked, *Wilt thou be 
buried on the rock, in the firm snow ? I will deck the spot 
with thy kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall 
dance over it. Or wouldst thou rather be buried in the 
sea ? ^ ‘In the sea,^ he whispered, and nodded with a 
mournful smile. ‘ Yes, it is a pleasant summer tent, the sea,’ 
observed the wife. ‘ Thousands of seals sport there, the 
walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe and 
merry 1 ’ And the yelling children tore the outspread hide 
from the window-hole, that the dead man might be car- 
ried to the ocean, the billowy ocean, that had given him 
food in life, and that now, in death, was to afford him u 
place of rest. For his monument, he had the floating, 
ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the 
storm-bird flies round their gleaming summits I” 

Tenth Evening 

“ 1 knew an old maid,” said the Moon. “ Every winter 
she were a wrapper of yellow satin, and it always re- 


WHAT THE MOOK SAW. 


21 


mained new, and was the only" fashion she followed. Id 
suriimcr she always wove the same straw hat, and I verily 
believe the very same gray-blue dress. 

“ She never went out, except across the street to an old 
female friend ; and in later years she did not even take 
this walk, for the old friend was dead. In her solitude my 
old maid was always busy at the window, which was 
adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and in winter with 
cress, grown upon felt. During the last months I saw her 
no more at the window, but she was still alive. I knew 
that, for I had not yet seen her begin the ‘ long journey/ 
of which she often spoke with her friend. ‘ Yes, yes,^ she 
was in the habit of saying, ‘ when I come to die, I shall 
take a longer journey than I have made my whole life long. 
Our family vault is six miles from here. I shall be carried 
there, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.* 
Last night a van stopped at the house. A cofiin was car- 
ried out, arid then I knew that she was dead. They placed 
straw round the cofiin, and the van drove away. There 
slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out of her house 
once for the last year. The van rolled out through the town- 
gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion. 
On the high-road the pace was quicker yet. The coach- 
man looked nervously around every now and then — I fancy 
he half expected to see her sitting on the coffin, in her yel- 
low satin wrapper. And because he was startled, he fool- 
ishly lashed his horses, while he held the reins so tightly 
that the poor beasts were in a foam : they were young and 
fiery. A hare jumped across the road and startled them, 
and they fairly ran away. The old sober maiden, who had 
for years and years moved quietly round and round in a 
dull circle, was now, in death, rattled over stock and stone 
on the public highway. The coffin in its covering of straw 


22 


andeesen’s tales. 


tumbled out of the vau, and wais' left on the high-road, 
while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past in wild 
career. The lark rose up carolling from the field, twitter- 
ing her morning lay over the coffin, and presently perched 
upon it, picking with her beak at the straw covering, as 
though she would tear it up. The lark rose up again, sing- 
ing gadfly, and I withdrew behind the red morning clouds.” 

Eleventh Evening. 

** I will give you a picture of Pompeii,” said the Moon. 
“ I was in the suburb in the Street of Tombs, as they call 
it, where the fair monuments stand, in the spot where, ages 
ago, the merry youths, their temples bound with rosy 
wreaths, danced with the fair sisters of Lai's. Now, the 
stillness of death reigned around. German mercenaries, in 
the Neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards, and diced; 
and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains came 
into the town, accompanied by a sentry. They wanted to 
see the city that had risen from the grave .illumined by my 
beams ; and I showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets 
paved w ith broad lava-slabs ; I showed them the names on 
the doors, and the signs that hung there yet; they saw in 
the little courtyard the basins of the fountains, ornamented 
Vvilh shells ; but no jet of water gushed upward, no songs 
sounded forth from the richly painted chambers, where the 
bronze dog kept the door. 

“It was the City of the Dead ; only Vesuvius thundered 
forth his everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is 
called by men an eruption. We went to the temple of 
Venus, built of snow-white marble, with its high altar in 
front of the broad steps, and the weeping-willows sprout^ 
ing freshly forth among the pillars. The air was transpar- 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


ent and blue, and black Vesuvius formed the background, 
with fire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the 
pine-tree. Above it stretched tlie smoky cloud in the 
silence of the night, like the crown of the pine, but in a 
blood-red illumination. Among the company was a lady 
singer, a real and great singer. I have witnessed the hom- 
age paid to her in, the greatest cities of Europe. When 
they came to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the 
amphitheatre steps, and thus a small part of the house was 
occupied by an audience, as it had been many centuries ago. 
The stage still stood unchanged, with its walled side-scenes, 
and the two arches in the background, through which the 
beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited in 
the old times — a scene painted by nature herself, namely, 
the mountains between ScTrento and Amalfi. The singer 
gayly mounted the ancient stage, and sang. The place 
inspired her, and she reminded me of a wild Arab horse, 
that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils and flying 
mane — her song was so light and yet so firm. Anon I 
thought of the mourning mother beneath the cross at Gol- 
gotha, so deep was the expression of pain. And, just as 
it had done thousands of years ago, the sound of applause 
and delight now filled the theatre. ‘Happy, gifted crea- 
ture all the hearers exclaimed. Five minutes more, and 
the stage was empty, the company had vanished, arid not 
a sound more was heard — all was gone. But the ruins 
stood unchanged, as they will stand when centuries shall 
have gone by, and when none shall know of the momentary 
applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress; when 
all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this houi 
will be but a dream of the past.” 


24 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


Twelfth Evening. 

“ I lucked through the windows of an editor’s house,” 
said the Moon. “ It was somewhere in Germany. I saw 
handsome furniture, many books, and a chaos of news- 
papers. Several young men were present : the editor him- 
self stood at his desk, and two little books, both by young 
authors, were to be noticed. ‘ This one has been sent to 
me,’ said he. * I have not read it yet ; what think you of 
the contents ?’ ‘ Oh,’ said the person addressed — he was a 

poet himself — ‘it is good enough; a little broad certainly; 
but, you see, the author is still young. The verses might 
be better, to be sure; the thoughts are sound, though there 
is certainly a good deal of common-place among them. But 
what will you have ? You can’t be always getting some- 
thing new. That he’ll turn out any thing great I don't 
believe, but you may safely praise him. He is well read, a 
remarkable Oriental scholar, and has a good judgment. It 
was he who wrote that nice review of my ‘ Reflections on 
Domestic Life.’ W e must be lenient towards the young man.’ 

“ ‘ But he is a complete hack 1’ objected another of the 
gentlemen. ‘ Nothing is worse in poetry than mediocrity, 
and he certainly does not go beyond this.’ 

“ ‘ Poor fellow,’ observed a third, ‘ and his aunt is so 
Inppy about him. It was she, Mr. Editor, who got together 
so many subscribers for your last translation.’ 

“ ‘Ah, the good woman I Well, I have noticed the book 
briefly. Undoubted talent — a welcome offering — a flower 
in the garden of poetry — prettily brought out — and so on. 
But this other book — I suppose the author expects me to 
purchase it? I hear it is praised. He has genius, cer 
tainly : don’t you think so ?’ 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


25 


“ ‘ Yes, all the world declares as much,’ replied the poet, 
* but it has turned out rather wildly. The punctuation of 
the book, in particular, is very eccentric.’ 

‘ It will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and 
anger him a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion 
of himself.’ 

“ ‘ But that would be unfair,’ objected the fourth. ‘ Let 
-IS not carp at little faults, but rejoice over the real and 
abundant good that we find here : he surpasses all the rest.’ 

“ ‘Not so. If he is a true* genius, he can bear the sharp 
voice of censure. There are people enough to praise him. 
Don’t let us quite turn his head.’ 

“ ‘ Decided talent,’ wrote the editor, ‘ with the usual care- 
lessness. That he can write incorrect verses may be seen 
in page 25, where there are two false quantities. We re- 
commend him to study the ancients,’ etc. 

“ I went away,” continued the Moon, “ and looked through 
the vdndows in the aunt’s house. There sat the bepraised 
poet, the tame one; all the guests paid homage to him, and 
he was happy. 

“I sought the other poet out, the wild one; him also I 
found in a great assembly at his patron’s, where the tame 
poet’s book was being discussed. 

“I shall read yours also,” said Maecenas ;“ but to speak 
honestly — you know I never hide my opinion from you — I 
don’t expect much from it, for you are much too wild, too 
fantastic. But it must be allowed that, as a man, you are 
highly respectable.” 

“A young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book 
these words ; 

“ ‘ In the dust lies genius and glory, 

But ev’ry-day talent will pai/. 

It’s only the old, old story, 

But the piece is repeated each day.’ 

2 


A-NDERSEN S TALES. 


Thirteenth Evening. 

The Moon said, Beside the woodland path there are two 
email farm-houses. The doors are low, and some of the 
windows are placed quite high, and others close to the 
ground; and whitethorn and barberry bushes grow around 
them. The roof of each house is overgrown with moss and 
with yellow flowers and houseleek. Cabbage and potatoes 
are the only plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of the 
hedge there grows a willow*tree, and under this willow-tree 
sat a little girl, and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the 
old oak-tree between the two huts. 

It was an old withered stem. It had been sawn off at 
the top, and a stork had built his nest upon it ; and he stood 
in this nest clapping with his beak. A little boy came and 
stood by the girPs side : they were brother and sister. 

“ ‘ What are you looking at V he asked. 

" ‘Pm watching the stork,^ she replied: ‘^our neighbors 
told me that he would bring us a little brother or sister 
to-day; let us watch to see it come 

‘ The stork brings no such things/ the boy declared, 
* you may be sure of that. Our neighbor told me the same 
thing, but she laughed when she said it, and so I asked her 
if she could say ‘ On my honor,’ and she could not; and I 
knew by that that the story about the storks is not true, 
and that they only tell it to us children for fun.’ 

“ ‘ But where do the babies come from, then V asked the 
girl. 

**‘Why, an angel from heaven brings them under his 
cloak: but no man can see him; and that’s why we never 
know when he brings them.’ 

** At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


27 


the willow -tree, and the children folded their hands and 
looked at one another : it was certainly the angel coming 
with the baby. They took each other’s hand, and at that 
moment the door of one of the houses opened, and the 
neighbor appeared. 

“ ‘ Come in, you two,’ she said. ‘ See what the stork has 
brought. It is a little brother.’ 

“ And the children nodded gravely at one another, for 
they had felt quite sure already that the baby was come.” 

Fourteenth Evening. 

“ I was gliding over the Liineburg Heath,” the Moon said. 

A lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes 
grew near it, and a nightingale who had lost his way sang 
sweetly. He died in the coldness of the night ; it was his 
farewell song that I heard. 

“ The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a 
caravan of emigrant peasant families who were bound to 
Hamburgh, there to take ship for America, where fancied 
prosperity would bloom for them. The mothers carried 
their little children at their backs, the elder ones tottered 
by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart 
that bore their scanty effects. The cold wind whistled, and 
therefore the little girl nestled closer to her mother, who, 
looking up at my decreasing disk, thought of the bitter 
want at home, and spoke of the heavy taxes they had not 
been able to raise. The whole caravan thought of the sauio 
thing ; therefore, the rising dawn seemed to them a mes- 
sage from the sun, of fortune that was to gleam brightly 
upon them. They heard the dying nightingale sing : it was 
no false prophet, but a harbinger of fortune. The wind 
wnistled, therefore they did not understand that the night* 


28 


Andersen’s tales. 


ingale sung, ‘ Fare away over the sea I Thou hast paid the 
long passage with all that was thine, and poor and helpless 
shalt thou enter Canaan. Thou must sell thyself, thy wife, 
and thy children. But your griefs shall not last long. Be- 
hind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the goddess of Death, 
and her welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. 
Fare away, fare away, over the heaving billows.^ And the 
caravan listened well pleased to the song of the nightin- 
gale, which seemed to promise good fortune. Day broke 
through the light clouds ; country people went across the 
heath to church ; the black-gowned women with their white 
head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped forth from 
the church pictures. All around lay a wide dead plain, 
covered with faded brown heath, and black charred spaces 
between the white sand-hills. The women carried hymn- 
books, and walked into the church. Oh, pray, pray for 
those who ai’e wandering to find graves beyond the foam- 
ing billows.” 

Fifteenth Evening. 

I know a Pulcinella,” * the Moon told me. “ The pub- 
lic applaud vociferously directly they see him. Every one 
of his movements is comic, and is sure to throw the house 
into convulsions of laughter ; and yet there is no art in it 
all — it is complete nature. When he was yet a little boy, 
playing about with other boys, he was already Punch 
Nature had intended him for it, and had provided him with 
a hump on his back, and another on his breast ; but his in- 
ward man, his mind, on the contrary, was richly furnished. 
Not one could surpass him in depth of feeling or in reJvdr 


* The comic or grotesque character of the Italian ballet, from which Eng 
lish ‘ Punch” takes his origin. 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


2 ^ 


ness of intellect. The theatre was his ideal world. If ho 
had possessed a slender, well-shaped figure, he might have 
been the first tragedian on any stage : the heroic, the great, 
filled his soul ; and yet he had to become a Pulcinella, 
riis very sorrow and melancholy did but increase the comic 
dryness of his sharply cut features, and increased the 
laughter of the audience, who showered plaudits on their 
favorite. The lovely Columbine was indeed kind and cor- 
dial to him ; but she preferred to marry the Harlequin. It 
would have been too ridiculous if beauty and ugliness^ had 
in reality paired together. 

“ When Pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the 
only one who oould force a hearty burst of laughter, or 
even a smile from him ; first she would be melancholy with 
him, then quieter, and at last quite cheerful and happy. 

* I know very well what is the matter with you,^ she said ; 
*yes, you’re in love I’ And he could not help laughing. 

* I and Love I’ he cried, ‘ that would have an absurd look. 
How the public would shout I ’ ‘ Certainly you are in love,’ 
she continued ; and added with a comic pathos, ‘ and I am 
the person you are in love with.’ You see, such a thing 
may be said when it is quite out of the question — and, in- 
deed, Pulcinella burst out laughing, and gave a leap into 
the air, and his melancholy was forgotten. 

^ “ And yet she had only spoken the truth. He did love 

her, love her adoringly, as he loved what was great and 
lofty m art. At her wedding he was the merriest among 
the guests, but in the stillness of night he wept : if tho 
public had seen his distorted face then, they would have 
applauded rapturously. 

“ And a few days ago Columbine died. On the day of 
the funeral Harlequin was not required to show himsell on 
the boards, for he was a disconsolate widower. The di- 


30 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


rector had to give up a very meriy piece, that the public 
might not too painfully miss the pretty Columbine and the 
agile Harlequin. Therefore Pulcinella had to be more bois- 
terous and extravagant than ever ; and he danced and 
capered, with despair in his heart ; and the audience 
yelled, and shouted ^ Bravo, bravissimoP Pulcinella was 
actually called before the curtain He was pronounced 
inimitable. 

“But last night the hideous little fellow went out of town, 
quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. The wreath of 
dowers on Columbine’s grave was already faded, and he 
sat down there. It was a study for a painter. As he sat 
with his chin on his hands, his eyes turned up towards me, 
he looked like a grotesque monument — a Punch on a grave 
— ^peculiar and whimsical I If the people could have seen 
their favorite, they would have cried as usual, ‘ Bravo, PvJr 
cineXla ; bravo, bravissimo P’ 

Sixteenth Evening. 

Hear what the Moon told me. “ I have seen the cadet 
^^ho had just been made an officer put on his handsome uni- 
form for the first time; I have seen the young bride in her 
wedding-dress, and the princess girl-wife happy in her 
gorgeous robes; but never have I seen a felicity equal to 
that of a little girl of four years old, whom I watched this 
evening. She had received a new blue dress, and a new 
pink hat; the splendid attire had just been put on, and all 
were calling for a candle, for my rays, shining in through 
the windows of the room, were not bright enough for the 
occasion, and further illumination was required. There 
stood the little maid, stiff and upright as a doll, her arms 
stretched painfully straight out away from her dress, and 


WHAT THE M.OON SAW. 


31 


lior fingers apart; and oh, what happiness beamed from hei 
whole countenance I ‘ To-morrow you shall go out in youi 
new clothes,' said her mother; and the little one looked up 
at her hat, and down at her frock, and smiled brightly. 
‘Motlier,' she cried, ‘what will the little dogs think, when 
tliey see me in these splendid new things V ” 

Seventeenth Evening. 

I have spoken to you of Pompeii,” said the Moon — “ that 
corpse of a city, exposed in the view of living towns. I 
know another sight still more strange; and this is not the 
corpse, but the spectre of a city. Whenever the jetty foun- 
tains splash into the marble basins, they seem to me to be 
telling the story of the floating city. Yes, the spouting 
water may tell of her, the waves of the sea may sing of 
her fame I On the surface of the ocean a mist often rests, 
and that is her widow's veil. The bridegroom of the sea is 
dead, his palace and his city are his mausoleum ! Dost 
thou know this city ? She has never heard the rolling of 
wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in her streets, through 
which the fish swim, v/hile the black gondola glides spec- 
trally over the green water. I will show you the place,” 
continued the Moon, “ the largest square in it, and you will 
fancy yourself transported into the city of a fairy tale. 
The grass grows rank among the broa.d flagstones, and in 
the morning twilight thousands of tame pigeons flutter 
around the solitary lofty tower. On three sides you find 
yourself surrounded by cloistered walks. In these the 
silent Tuik sits smoking his long pipe, the handsome Greek 
leans against the pillar and gazes at the upraised trophies 
and lofty masts, memorials of power that is gone. The flags 
hang down like mourning scarfs. A girl rests there : she 


32 


Andersen’s tales. 


has put down her heavy pails filled with water; the yoke 
with which she has carried them rests on one of her shoul- 
ders, and she leans against the mast of victory. That is 
not a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but a church • 
the gilded domes and shining orbs flash back m^^ beams \ 
the glorious bronze horses up yonder have made journeys, 
like the bronze horse in the fairy tale : they have come 
hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. Do you 
notice the variegated splendor of the walls and windows ? 
It looks as if Genius had followed the caprices of a child, 
in the adornment of these singular temples. Dc you see 
the winged lion on the pillar ? The gold glitters still, but 
his wings are tied — the lion is dead, for the king of the sea 
is dead; the great halls stand desolate, and where gorgeous 
paintings hung of yore the naked wall now peers through. 
The lazzarone sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in 
old times was to be trodden only by the feet of high nobility 
From th6 deep wells, and perhaps from the prisons by the 
Bridge of Sighs, rise the accents of woe, as at the time 
when the tambourine was heard in the gay gondolas, and 
the golden ring was cast from the Bucentaur to Adria, the 
queen of the seas. Adria I shroud thyself in the mists; let 
the veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form, and" clothe in 
the weeds of woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom — the 
marble, spectral Venice.” 

Eighteenth Evening. 

** I looked down upon a great theatre,” said the Moon. 
** The house was crowded, for a new actor was to make his 
first appearance that night. My rays glided over a little 
window in the wall, and I saw a painted face with the fore- 
head pressed against the panes. It was the hero of the 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


33 


evening. The, knightly beard curled crisply about the chin; 
but there were tears in the man’s eyes, for he had been 
hissed off, and indeed with reason. The poor Incapable I 
But Incapables cannot be admitted into the empire of Ait. 
He hal deep feeling, and loved his art enthusiastically, bat 
the art loved not him. The prompter’s bell sounded; ‘the 
hero enters loith a determined air,^ so ran thr stage direction 
in his part, and* he had to appear before an audience who 
turned him into ridicule. When the piece was over, I saw 
a form wrapped in a mantle, creeping down the steps : it 
was the vanquished knight of the evening. The scene- 
shifters whispered to one another, and I followed the poor 
fellow home to his room.* To hang one’s self is to die a 
mean death, and poison is not always at hand, 1 know; but 
he thought of both. I saw how he looked at his pale face 
in the glass, wdth eyes half closed, to see if he should look 
well as a corpse. A man* may be very unhappy, and yet 
exceedingly affected. He thought of death, of suicide; I 
believe he pitied himself, for he wept bitterly, and when a 
man has had his cry out he doesn’t kill himself. 

Since that time a year had rolled by. Again a play was 
to be acted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling 
company. Again I saw the well-remembered face, with the 
painted cheeks and the crisp beard. He looked up at me 
and smiled; and yet he had been hissed off only a minute 
before — hissed off from a wretched theatre, by a miserable 
audience. And to-night a shabby hearse rolled out of the 
town-gate. It was a suicide — our painted, despised hero. 
The driver of the hearse was the only person present, for 
no one followed except my beams. In a corner of the 
churchyard the corpse of the suicide was shovelled into the 
earth, and nettles will soon be growing rankly over his 
C 2* 


84 


ANDEliSEK’S TALES. 

grave, aii<\ the sexton will thi'()Ay thorns and weeds fron: 
tlie other graves upon 


Nineteenth Evening. 

“ I come from Rome,” said the Moon. “In the midst of 
the city, upon one of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the 
imperial palace. The wild fig-tree grows, in the clefts of 
the wall, and covers the nakedness thereof with its broad 
gray-green leaves; trampling among heaps of rubbish, the 
ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank 
thistles. From this spot, whence the eagles of Rome once 
flew abroad, whence they ‘ came, saw, and conquered,’ our 
door leads into a little mean house, built of clay between 
two pillars ; the wild- vine hangs like a mourning garland 
over the crooked window. An old woman and her little 
grand-daughter live there : they rule now in the palace of 
the Cmsars, and show to strangers the remains of its past 
glories. Of the splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet 
stands, and a black cypress throws its dark shadow on the 
spot where the throne once stood. The dust lies several 
feet deep on the broken pavement ; and the little maiden, 
now the daughter of the imperial palace, often sits there on 
her stool when the evening bells ring. The keyhole of the 
door close by she calls her turret window ; through this 
she can see half Rome, as far as the mighty cupola of St. 
Peter’s. 

“ On this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around ; 
and in the full beam of my light came the little grand- 
daughter. On her head she carried an earthen pitcher of 
antique shape, filled with water. Her feet were bare, her 
short frock and white sleeves were torn. I kissed her 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


35 


pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, aud black shiuiug 
hair. She mounted the stairs ; they were steep, having 
been made up of rough blocks of broken marble and the 
capital of a fallen pillar. The colored lizards slipped away, 
startled, from before her feet, but she was not frightened at 
them. Already she lifted her hand to pull the door-bell — 
a hare’s foot fastened to a string formed the bell-handle of 
the imperial palace. She paused for a moment — of what 
might she be thinking ? Perhaps of the beautiful Christ- 
child, dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in 
the chapel, where the silver^ candlesticks gleamed so bright, 
and where her little friends sung the hymns in which she 
also could join ? I know not. Presently she moved again 
— she stumbled ; the earthen vessel fell from her head, and 
broke on the marble steps. She burst into tears. The 
beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over the 
worthless broken pitcher ; with her bare feet she stood 
there weeping, and dared not pull the string, the bell- rope 
of the imperial palace I” 


Twentieth Evening. 

It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had. shone. 
Now he stood once more, round and bright, above the 
clouds, moving slowly onward. Hear what the Moon told 
me. 

“From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan. On the 
margin of the sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like 
a frozen lake, and was only covered in spots with light 
diifting sand, a halt was made. The eldest of the company 
— ^the water-gourd hung at his girdle, and on his head was 
a little bag of unleavened bread— drew a square in the sand 
with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran, 


36 


ander.sp:n s tales. 


and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated 
spot A young merchant, a child of the East, as I could 
tell by his eye and his figure, rode pensively forward on his 
white snorting steed. Was he thinking*, perchance, of his 
"air young wife ? It was only two days ago that the camel, 
adorned with furs and with costly shawls, had carried her, 
the beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, while 
drums and cymbals had sounded, the women sang, and 
festive shots, of which the bridegroom fired the greatest 
number, resounded round the camel ; and now he was 
journeying with the caravan across the desert. 

“ For many nights I followed the train. I saw them rest 
by the well-side among the stunted palms ; they thrust the 
knife into the breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted 
its flesh by the fire. My beams cooled the glowing sands, 
and showed them the black rocks, dead islands in the im- 
mense ocean of sand. No hostile tribes met them in their 
pathless route, no storms arose, no columns of sand whirled 
destruction over the journeying caravan. At home the 
beautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father. ‘Are 
they dead she asked of my golden crescent ; ‘ Are they 
dead V she cried to my full disk. Now the desert lies be- 
hind them. This evening they sit beneath the lofty palm- 
trees, where the crane flutters round them with its long 
wings, and the pelican watches from the branches of the 
mimosa. The luxuriant herbage is trampled down, crushed 
by the feet of elephants. A troop of negroes are returning 
from a market in the interior of the land : the women, with 
copper buttons in their black hair, and decked out in clothes 
dyed with indigo, drive the heavily laden oxen, on whose 
backs slumber the naked black children. A negro leads a 
young lion, which he has bought, by a string. They 
approach the caravan ; the young merchant sits pensive 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 37 

and motionless, thinking of his beautiful wif«., dreaming, in 
the land of the blacks, of his white frasrrant lily beyond 
the dt;sert. He raises his head, and — ” But at this mo- 
ment a cloud passed before the Moon, and then another. 
1 hoard nothing more from him this evening. 


Twenty-first Evening. 

“ I saw a little girl weeping,” said the Moon ; “ she waa 
weeping over the depravity of the world. She had received 
a most beautiful doll as a present. Oh, that was a glorious 
doll, so fair and delicate I She did not seem created for 
the sorrows of this world. But the brothers of the little 
girl, those great naughty boys, had set the doll high up in 
the branches of a tree, and had run away. 

“ The little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could 
not help her down, and that is why she was crying. The 
doll must certainly have been crying too ; for she stretched 
out her arms among the green bushes, and looked quite 
mournful. Yes, these are the troubles of life of v/hich the 
little girl had often heard tell. Alas, poor doll ! it began 
to grow dark already ; and suppose night were to come on 
completely I Was she to be left sitting there alone on the 
bough all night long ? j^o, the little maid could not make 
up her mind to that. ‘ I will stay with you,^ she said, al- 
though she felt any thing but happy in her mind. She 
could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes, with 
their high-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes ; and further 
back in the long walk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing 
They came nearer and nearer, and stretched out their hands 
towards the tree on which the doll sat ; they laughed scorn- 
fully, and pointed at her with their fingers. Oh, how fright- 
ened the little maid was I ‘ But if one has not done any 


38 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


tiling wrong/ she thought, ‘nothing evil can harm one. 1 
wonder if 1 have done smy thing wrong V And she con- 
sidered. ‘ Oh, yes 1 I laughed at the poor duck with the 
red rag on her leg ; she limped along so funnily, I could 
not help laughing ; but it’s a sin to laugh at animals.^ 
And she looked up at the doll. ‘ Did you laugh at the duck 
10*0 V she asked ; and it seemed as if the doll shook her 
head. 

Twenty-second Evening. 

I looked down upon Tyrol,” said the Moon, “ and my 
beams caused the dark pines to throw long shadows upon 
the rocks. I looked at the pictures of St. Christopher car- 
rying the Infant Jesus that are painted there upon the 
walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from the 
ground to the roof. St. Florian was represented pour- 
ing water on the burning house, and the Lord hung bleed- 
ing on the great cross by the wayside. To the present 
generation these are old pictures, but I saw when they 
were put up, and marked how one followed the other. On the 
brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow’s 
nest, 2 ^ lonely convent of nuns. Two of the sisters stood up 
in the tower tolling the bell ; they were both young, and 
therefore their glances flew over the mountain but into the 
world. A travelling coach passed by below; the postillion 
wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked after the carriage 
for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear gleamed 
in the eyes of the younger one. And the horn sounded 
faint and more faintly, and the convent-bell drowned its ex- 
piring echoes,” 


WHAT THE JvlOON SAW. 


39 


Twenty-third Evening. 

Hear what the Moon told me. Some years ago, here 
41 Copenhagen, I looked through the window of a mean 
dttle room. The father and mother slept, but the little son 
was not asleep. I saw the flowered cotton curtains of the 
bed move, and the child peep forth. At first I thought he 
was looking at the great clock, which was gayly painted in 
red and green. At the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the 
heavy leaden weights, and the pendulum with the polished, 
disk of metal went to and fro, and said ‘ tick, tick.^ But no, 
he was not looking at the clock, but at his mother’s spin- 
ning-wheel, that stood just underneath it. That was the 
boy’s favorite piece of furniture, but he dared not touch it, 
for if he meddled with it he got a rap on the knuckles. For 
hours together, when his mother was spinning, he would sit 
quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle and 
the revolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many 
things. Oh, if he might only turn the wheel himself 1 
Father and mother were asleep ; he looked at them, and 
looked at the spinning-wheel, and presently a little naked 
foot peered out of bed, and then a second foot, and then 
two little white legs. There he stood. He looked round 
once more to see if father and mother were still asleep — 
yes, they slept ; and now he crept softly ^ softly, in his short 
little nightgown, to the spinning-wheel, and began to spin. 
The thread flew from the wheel, and the wheel whirled 
faster and faster. I kissed his fair hair and his blue eyes, 
it was such a pretty picture. 

“ At that moment the mother awoke. The curtain shook, 
she looked forth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some 
other kind of little spectre. ‘ In Heaven’s name !’ she 


40 ANDEESEJSr’S TALES. 

cried, and aroused her husband in a frightened way. Tie 
opened his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, and looki^d at 
the brisk little lad. ‘ Why, that is Bertel,^ said he. And 
my eye quitted the poor room, for I have so much to see. 
At the same moment I looked at the halls of the Vatican, 
where the marble gods are enthroned. I shone upon the 
group of the Laocoon; the stone seemed to sigh. I pressed 
a silent kiss on the lips of the Muses, and they seemed tc 
stir and move. But my rays lingered longest on the Nile 
group with the colossal god. Leaning against the Sphinx, 
he lies there thoughtful and meditative, as if he were think- 
ing on the rolling centuries; and little love-gods sport with 
him and with the crocodiles. In the horn of plenty sat with 
folded arms a little tiny love-god, contemplating the great 
solemn river-god, a true picture of the boy at the spinning 
wheel — the features were exactly the same. Charming and 
life-like stood the little marble form, and yet the wheel of 
the year has turned more than a thousand times since the 
time when it sprang forth from the stone. Just as often as 
the boy in the little room turned the spinning wheel had the 
great wheel murmured, before the age could again call 
forth marble gods equal to those he afterwards formed. 

“Years have passed since all this happened,” the Moon 
went on to say. “Yesterday I looked upon a bay on the 
eastern coast of Denmark. Glorious woods are there, ind 
high trees, an old knightly castle with red walls, sv ins 
floating in the ponds, and in the background appears, am mg 
orchards, a little town with a church. Many boats, the 
crews all furnished with torches, glided over the silent ex- 
panse — but these fires had not been kindled for catcl mg 
fish, for every thing had a festive look. Music sounde A, a 
song was sung, and in one of the boats the man stood e^ ect 
to whom homage was paid by the rest, a tall sturdy m in, 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 45 

wrapped in a cloak. He had blue eyes and long white hair 
I knew him, and thought of the Vatican, and of the group 
of the Nile, and the old marble gods. I thought of the 
simple little room where little Bertel sat in his night-shirt 
by the spinning-wheel. The wheel of time has turned, and 
new gods have come forth from the stone. From the boats 
there arose a shout; ‘Hurrah, hurrah for Bertel Thorwald 
sen ” 

Twenty-fourth Evening. 

“ I will now give you a picture from Frankfort,” said the 
Afoon. “ I especially noticed one building there. It was 
not the house in which Goethe was born, nor the old Council 
House, through whose grated windows peered the horns of 
tlie oxen that were roasted and given to the people when 
the emperors were crowned. No, it was a private house, 
plain in appearance, and painted green. It stood near the 
old Jews^ Street. It was Eothschild’s house. 

“ I looked through the open door. The staircase was 
brilliantly lighted : servants carrying wax candles in mas- 
sive silver candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before 
an old woman, who was being brought down-stairs in a 
litter. The proprietor of the house stood bareheaded, and 
respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand of the old woman. 
She was his mother. She nodded in a friendly manner to 
him and to the servants, and they carried her into the dark 
narrow street, into a little house, that was her dwelling. 
Here her children had been born, from hence the fortune of 
the family had arisen. If she deserted the despised street 
and the little house, fortune would also desert her children 
That was her firm belief.” 

The Moon told me no more ; his visit this evening was 
far too short. But I thought of the old woman in the nai^ 


42 


Andersen’s tales. 


row despised street. It would have cost her but a word, 
aud a brilliant house would have arisen for her on the banks 
of the Thames — a word, and a villa would have been pre- 
pared in the Bay of Naples. 

“ If I deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my 
«3uns first began to bloom, fortune would desert them It 
was a superstition, but a superstition of such a class, that 
he who knows the story and has seen this picture, need 
have only two words placed under the picture to make him 
understand it ; and these two words are ; “ A mother.’’ 

Twenty-fifth Evening. 

“ It was yesterday, in the morning twilight” — these are 
the words the Moon told me — “ in the great city no chimney 
was yet smoking — and it was just at the chimneys that I 
was looking. Suddenly a little head emerged from one of 
them, and then half a body, the arms resting on the rim of 
the chimney-pot. ‘ Ya-hip I ya-hip I’ cried a voice. It was 
the little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his 
life crept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the 
top. ‘Ya-hip I ya-hip I’ Yes, certainly that was a very 
different thing to creeping about in the dark narrow chim- 
neys ! the air blew so fresh, and he could look over the 
whole city towards the green wood. The sun was just 
rising. It shone round and great, just in his face, that 
beamed with triumph, though it was very prettily blacked 
with soot. 

“ ‘ The whole town can see me now,’ he exclaimed, ‘ and 
the moon can see me now, and the sun too. Ya-hip ! ya^ 
hip 1’ And he flourished his broom in triumph.” 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


43 


Twenty-sixth Evening. 

Last night I looked down uj^on a town in China,” said 
the Moon. “ My beams irradiated the naked walls that 
form the streets there. Now and then, certainly, a door 
s 8^)en ; but it is locked, for what does the Chinaman care 
about the outer world ? Close wooden shutters covered the 
windows behind the walls of the houses ; but through the 
windows of the temple a faint light glimmered. I looked 
in, and saw the quaint decorations within. From the floor 
to the ceiling pictures are painted, in the most glaring 
colors, and richly gilt — pictures representing the deeds of 
the gods here on earth. In each niche statues are placed, 
but they are almost entirely hidden by the colored drapery 
and the banners that hang down. Before each idol (and 
they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, 
with flowers and burning wax-lights on it. Above all the 
rest stood Fo, the chief deity, clad in a garment of yellow 
silk, for yellow is here the sacred color. At the foot of the 
altar sat a living being, a young priest. He appeared to 
be praying, but in the midst of his prayer he seemed to fall 
into deep thought, and this must have been wrong, for his 
cheeks glowed and he held down his head. Poor Soui- 
hong I Was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the 
little flower-garden behind the high street wall ? And did 
that occupation seem more agreeable to him than watching 
the wax-lights in the temple ? Or did he wish to sit at the 
rich feast, wiping his mouth with silver paper between each 
course ? Or was his sin so great that, if he dared utter it 
the Celestial Empire would punish it with death ? Had his 
thoughts ventui’ed to fly with the ships of the barbarians, 
to their homes in far-distant England? No, his thoughts 


44 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


did not fly so far, and yet they were sinful, sinful as 
thoughts born of young hearts, sinful here in the temple, in 
the presence of Fo and the other holy gods. 

“I know whither his thoughts had strayed. At the 
further end of the city, on the flat roof paved with porce- 
lain, on which stood the handsome vases covered with 
painted flowers, sat the beauteous Pu, of the little roguish 
eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet. The tight shoe 
pained her, but her heart pained her still more. She lifted 
her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. Before 
her stood a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. She 
stirred the bowl carefully with a slender lacquered stick, 
very slowly, for she, too, was lost in thought. Was she 
thinking, perchance, how the fishes were richly clothed in 
gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully in their crystal 
world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how much 
happier they might be if they were free? Yes, that she 
could well understand, the beautiful Pu. Her thoughts 
wandered away from her home, wandered to the temple, but 
not for the sake of holy things. Poor Pu ! Poor Soui-houg ! 

“ Their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay be- 
tween the two, like the sword of the cherub.” 


Twenty-seventh Evening. 

“ The air was calm,” said the Moon ; “ the water was 
transparent as the purest ether through which I was gliding, 
and deep below the surface I could see the strange plants that 
stretched up their long arms towards me like the gigantic 
trees of the forest. The fishes swam to and fro above 
their tops. High in the air a flight of wild swans were 
winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with 
wearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


45 


melted further and further into the distance. With out- 
spread wings he sank slowly, as a soap-bubble sinks in the 
still air, till he touched the water. At length his head la^ 
back between his wings, and silently he lay there, like 
white lotus-flower upon the quiet lake. And a gentle wind 
arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like the 
clouds that poured along in great broad waves ; and the 
swan raised his head, and the glowing water splashed like 
blue fire over his breast and back. The morning dawn 
illuminated the red clouds, the swan rose strengthened, and 
flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish coast 
whither the caravan had gone ; but he flew alone, with a 
longing in his breast. Lonely he flew over the blue swell- 
ing billows.” 

Twenty-eighth Evening. 

“I will give you another picture of Sweden,” said the 
Moon. “Among dark pine woods, near the melancholy 
banks of the Stoxen, lies the old convent church of Wreta. 
My rays glided through the grating into the roomy vaults, 
where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone colBns. On the 
wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of 
earthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of 
wood, painted and gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven 
into the wall. The worms have gnawed the gilded wood, 
the spider has spun her web from the crown down to tlie 
sand, like a mourning banner, frail and transient as the 
grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep 1 I can remem- 
ber them quite plainly. I still see the bold smile on their 
lips, that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. 
When the steamboat winds along like a magic snail over 
the lakes, a stranger often comes to the church, and visits 
the burial vault; he asks the names of the kings, and they 


46 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


have a dead and forgotten sound. He glances with a smile 
at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be a pious, 
thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with the 
smile. Slumber on, ye dead ones I The Moon thinks of 
you, the Moon at night sends down his rays into your silent 
kingdom, over which hangs the crown of pine wood.” 

Twenty-ninth Evening. 

“ Close by the high-road,” said the Moon, “ is an inn, and 
opposite to it is a great wagon-shed, whose straw roof was 
just being re-thatched. T looked down between the bare 
rafters and through the open loft into the comfortless space 
below. The turkey-cock slept on the beam, and the saddle 
rested in the empty crib. In tlie middle of the shed stood a 
travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast asleep, 
while the horses were being watered. The coachman 
stretched himself, though I am very sure that he had been 
most comfortably asleep half the last stage. The door of 
the servants’ room stood open, and the bed looked as if it 
had been turned over and over; the candle stood on the 
floor, and had burnt deep down into the socket. The wind 
blew cold through the shed: it was nearer the dawn than to 
midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wan- 
dering.family of musicians. The father and mother seemed 
to be dreaming of the burning liquor that remained in the 
bottle. The little pale daughter was dreaming too, for her 
eyes were wet with tears. The harp stood at their heads, 
and the dog lay stretched at their feet.” 

Thirtieth Evening. 

was in a little provincial town,” the Moon said; “it 
certainly happened last year, but that has nothing to do 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


47 


with the matter. I saw it quite plainly. To-day I read 
about it in the papers, but there it was not half so clearly 
expressed. In the taproom of the little inn sat the bear 
leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied up outside, 
behind the wood-pile — poor Bruin, who did nobody any 
harm, though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret , 
three little children were playing by the light of my beams; 
the eldest was perhaps six years old, the youngest certainly 
not more than two. ‘ Tramp, tramp^ — somebody was com- 
ing upstairs : who might it be ? The door was thrust open 
— it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin ! He had got tired 
of waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way 
to the stairs. I saw it all,” said the Moon. “ The children 
were very much frightened at first at the great shaggy 
animal; each of them crept into a corner, but he found them 
all out, and smelt at them, but did them no harm. ‘ This 
must be a great dog,^ they said, and began to stroke him. 
He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered 
on his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, 
played at hiding in the beast’s shaggy skin. Presently the 
eldest boy took his drum, and beat upon it till it rattled 
again; the bear rose upon his hind legs, and began to dance. 
It was a charming sight to behold. Each boy now took 
his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he 
Jield it up quite properly. Here" was a capital playmate they 
had found; and they began marching — one, two; one, two. 

“ Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and 
the mother of the children appeared. You should have seen 
her in her dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her 
mouth half open, and her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. 
But the youngest boy nodded to her in great glee, and 
called out in his infantile prattle, ‘ We’re playing at soldiers ^ 
And then the bear leader came running up.” 


48 


Andersen’s tales. 


Thirty-first Evening. 

Tlio wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly 
past; only for a moment now and then did the Moon be- 
come visible. He said, “ I looked down from the silent sky 
upon the driving clouds, and saw the great shadows chasing 
each other across the earth. I looked upon a prison. A 
closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be carried 
away. My rays pierced through the grated window 
towards the wall : the prisoner was scratching a few lines 
upon it, as a parting token; but he did not write words, but 
a melody, the outpouring of his heart. The door was 
opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes upon my 
round disk. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not 
to see my face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the 
door was closed, the whip cracked, and the horses galloped 
ofi’ into the thick forest, whither ray rays were not able to 
follow him; but as I glanced through the grated window, 
my rays glided over the notes, his last farewell engraved on 
the prison wall — where words fail, sounds can often speak. 
My rays could only light up isolated notes, so the greater 
part of what was written there will ever remain dark to 
me. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there ? Were these 
the glad notes of joy? Did he drive away to meet death, 
or hasten to the embraces of his beloved ? The rays of the 
Sloon do not read all that is written by mortals.” 

Thirty-second Evening. 

‘‘I love the children,” said the Moon, “especially the 
quiet little ones— they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into 
the room, between the curtain and the window frame, when 


WHAT THE MOON SAW. 


49 


they are not thinking of me. It gives me pleasure to see 
them dressing and undressing. First, the little round naked 
shoul'der comes creeping out of the frock, then the arm; or 
I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little white 
leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit 
to be kissed ; and I kiss it too. 

'‘But about what I was going to tell you. This evening 
I looked through a window, before which no curtain was 
drawn, foi nobody lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of 
little ones, all of one family, and among them was a little 
sister. She is only four years old, but can say her prayers 
as well as any of the rest. The mother sits by her bed 
every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she 
has a kiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one 
has gone to sleep, which generally happens as soon as ever 
she can close her eyes. 

“ This evening the two elder children were a little bois- 
terous. One of them hopped about on one leg in his long 
white nightgown, and the other stood on a chair surrounded 
by the clothes of all the children, and declared he was act- 
ing Grecian statues. The third and fourth laid the clean 
linen carefully in the box, for that is a thing that has to be 
done; and the mother sat by the bed of the youngest, and 
announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet, for 
little sister was going to say her prayers. 

“ I looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden’s bed, 
where she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands 
folded demurely and her little face quite grave and serious. 
She was praying the Lord’s Prayer aloud. But her mother 
interrupted her in the middle of her prayer. ‘ How is it,’ 
slie asked, ‘ that when you have prayed for daily bread, 
you always add something I cannot understand ? You must 
tell me what that is.’ The little one lay silent, and looked 

3 


50 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


at her mother in embarrassment. ‘ What is it you say aftei 
our daily bread ‘ Dear mother, don’t be angry : I only 
said, and plenty of butter on itJ ” 


THE STOEY OF THE YEAE. 

It was far in January, and a terrible fall of snow was 
pelting down. The snow eddied through the streets and 
lanes; the window-panes seemed plastered with snow on 
the outside; snow plumped down in masses from the roofs ; 
and a sudden hurry had seized on the people, for they ran, 
and flew, and fell into each others’ arms, and as they 
clutched each other fast for a moment, they felt that they 
were safe at least for that length of time. Coaches and 
horses seemed frosted with sugar. The footmen stood with 
their backs against the carriages, so as to turn their faces 
from the wind. The foot-passengers kept in the shelter of 
the carriages, which could only move slowly on in the deep 
snow; and when the storm at last abated, and a narrow 
path was swept clean alongside the houses, the people stood 
still in this path when they met, for none liked to take the 
first step aside into the deep snow to let the other pass him. 
Thus they stood silent and motionless, till, as if by tacit 
consent, each sacrificed one leg, and stepping aside, buried 
it in the deep snow-heap. 

Towards evening it grew calm. The sky looked as if it 
had beer, swept, and had become more lofty and transpa- 
rent. The stars looked as if they were quite new, and 
some of them were amazingly bright and pure. It froze so 
hard that the snow creaked, and the upper rind of snow 


THE STOEY OF THE YEAK. 5J 

might well have grown hard enough to bear the sparrowu 
in the morning dawn. These little birds hopped up and 
down where the sweeping had been done; but they found 
very little food, and were not a little cold. 

“Piep I” said one of them to another; “they call this a 
new year, and it is worse than the last 1 We might just as 
well have kept the old one. Pm dissatisfied, and Pvc a 
right to be so.” 

“Yes; and the people ran about and fired off shots to 
celebrate the new year,” said a little shivering sparrow; 
“ and they threw pans and pots against the doors, and were 
quite boisterous with joy, because the old 3'-ear was gofte. 
I was glad of it too, because I hoped we should have had 
warm daj^s; but that has come to nothing — it freezes much 
harder than before. People have made a mistake in reck* 
oning the time !” ^ 

“ That they have 1” a third put in, who was old, and had 
a white poll; “ the^^Ve something the}’’ call the calendar — 
iPs an invention of their own — and every thing is to be ar- 
ranged according to that; but it won’t do. When Spring 
comes, then the year begins, and I reckon according to 
that.” 

“But when will Spring come ?” the others inquired. 

“ It will come when the stork comes back. But his move- 
ments are very uncertain, and here in towns no one knows 
any thing about it : in the country they are better informed. 
Shall we fly out there and wait? There, at any rate, we 
shall l)e nearer to Spring.” 

“Yes, that may be all very well,” observed one of the 
sparrows, w’uo had been hopping about for a long time, 
chirping, without saying any thing decided. “ Pve found a 
fevv comforts liere in town, which Pm afraid I should miss out 
in lilt' countiy. Xear Ihis ueigbborhood, in a ctmrtyurd, there 


62 


Andersen's tales. 


lives a family of people, who have taken the very sensible 
notion of placing three or four flower-pots against tlie wall, 
with their mouths all turned inwards, and the bottom of each 
pointing outwards. In each flower-pot a hole has been cut, 
big enough for me to fly in and out at it. I and my husband 
have built a nest in one of those pots, and have brought up 
our young family there. The family of people, of course, 
made the whole arrangement that they might have the 
pleasure of seeing us, or else they would not have done it. 
To please themselves they also strew crumbs of bread; and 
so we have food, and are in a manner provided for. So I 
tlnnk my husband and I will stay where we are, although 
ive are very dissatisfied — but we shall stay.” 

“ And we will fly into the country to see if Spring is not 
coming I” And away they flew. 

Out in the country it was hard Winter, and the glass was 
a few degrees lower than in the town. The sharp winds 
swept across the snow-covered fields. The farmer, muffled 
in warm mittens, sat in his sledge, and beat his arms across 
his breast to warm himself, and the whip lay across his 
knees. The horses ran till they smoked again. The snow 
creaked, and the sparrows hopped about in the ruts, and 
shivered, “ Piep I when will Spring come ? it is very long 
in coming !” 

“Very long,” sounded from the next snow-covered hill, 
far over the field. It might be the echo which was heard ; 
or perhaps the words were spoken by yonder wonderful 
old man, who sat in wind and weather high on a heap of 
snow. He was quite white, attired like a peasant in a 
coarse white coat of frieze; he had long white hair, and was 
quite pale, with big blue ejms. 

“ AVho is that old man yonder?” asked the sparrows. 

“ 1 know wim lio is,” quotli an old i-aven, wlio sat on the 


THE STORY OF THE YEAR. 


53 


fence-rail, and was condescending enough to acknowledge 
that' we are all like little birds in the sight of Heaven, and 
therefore was not above speaking to the sparrows, and giv- 
ing them information. “ I know who the oM man is. It is^' 
Winter, the old man of last year. He is not dead, as the 
calendar sa^^s, but is guardian to little Prince Spring, who 
is to come. Yes, Winter bears sway here. Ugh I the cold 
makes you shiver, does it not, you little ones ?” 

“Yes. Did I not tell the truth ?” said the smallest spar- 
row : “the calendar is only an invention of man, and is not 
arranged according to nature I They ought to leave these 
things to us, who are born cleverer than they.” 

And one week passed away, and two passed away. The 
frozen lake lay hard and stiff, looking like a sheet of lead, 
and damp icy mists lay brooding over the land; the great 
black crows flew about in long rows, but silently; and it 
seemed as if nature slept. The sunbeam glided aioiig over 
the lake, and made it shine like burnished tin. The snowy 
covering on the field and on the hill did not glitter as it 
had done; but the white form. Winter himself, still sat 
there, his gaze fixed unsv^ervingly upon the south. He did 
not notice that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were 
into the earth, and that here and tliere a little grass-green 
patch appeared, and that all these patches were crowded 
with sparrows. 

“ Kee-wit I kee-wit ! Is Spring coming now ?” 

“ Spring I” The cry resounded over field and meadow, 
and through the black-brown woods, where the moss still 
glimmered in bright green upon the tree-trunks; and from 
the south the first two storks came flying through the air. 
On the back of each sat a pretty little child — one was a 
girl and the other a boy. They greeted the earth with a 
kiss, and wlierever they sot their feet, white flowers grev 


64: 


Andersen’s tales. 


up from bcjjeatli llio snow. Then they went hand in hand 
to the old ice-man, Winter, clung' to his breast embracing 
him, and in a moment they, and he, and all the region 
around were hidden in a thick damp mist, dark and heavy, 
that closed over air like a veil. Gradually the wind rose, 
and now it rushed roaring along, and drove away the mist 
with heavy blows, so that the sun shone warmly forth, and 
Winter himself vanished, and the beautiful children of 
Spring sat upon the throne of the year. 

“Thars what I call Spring,” cried each of the sparrows. 
“Now we shall get our rights, and have amends for the 
stern Winter.” 

W^herever the two children turned, green buds burst 
forth on bushes and trees, the grass shot upwards, and the 
cornfields turned green and became more and more lovely 
And the little maiden strewed flowers all around. Her 
anron, which she held up before her, was always full of 
them; they seemed to spring up there, for her lap continued 
full, however zealously she strewed the blossoms around; 
and in her eagerness she scattered a snow of blossoms 
over apple-trees and peach-trees, so that they stood in full 
beauty before their green leaves had fairly come forth. 

And she clapped her hands, and the boy clapped his, and 
then flocks of birds came flying up, nobody knew whence, 
and they all twittered and sang, “Spring has come I” 

That was beautiful to behold. Many an old granny crept 
Ibrth over the threshold into the sunshine, and tripped glee- 
fully about, casting a glance at the yellow flowers which 
shone everywhere in the fields, just as they used to do when 
she was young. The world grew young again to her, and 
she said, “ It is a blessed day out here to-day 1 ” 

The forest still wore its brown-green dress, made of buds; 
but the thyme was already there, fresh and fragrant; there 


THE STOKY OF THE YEAR. 


55 


were violets in plenty, anemones and primroses came forth, 
and there was sap and strength in every blade of grass. 
That was certainly a beautiful carpet, on which no one 
could resist sitting down, and there accordingly the young 
spring pair sat hand in hand, and sang and smiled, and 
grew on. 

A mild rain fell down upon them from the sky, but they 
did not notice it, for the rain-drops were mingled with their 
own tears of joy. They kissed each other, and were be- 
trothed as people that should marry, and in the same mo- 
ment the verdure of the woods was unfolded, and when the 
sun rose, the forest stood arrayed in green. 

And hand in hand the betrothed pair wandered under the 
fresh pendent ocean of leaves, where the rays of the sun 
gleamed through the interstices in lovely, changing hues. 
What virgin purity, what refreshing balm in the delicate 
leaves I The brooks and streams rippled clearly and merrily 
among the green velvety rushes and over the colored peb- 
bles. All nature seemed to say, “ There is plenty, and there 
shall be plenty always !” And the cuckoo sang and the 
lark carolled : it was a charming Spring; but the willows 
had woolly gloves over their blossoms : they were desper- 
ately careful, and that is wearisome. 

And days went by and weeks went by, and the heat came 
as it were whirling down. Hot waves of air came through 
the corn, that became yellower and yellower. The white 
water-lily of the north spread its great green leaves over 
the glassy mirror of the woodland lakes, and the fishes 
sought out the shady spots beneath; and at the sheltered 
side of the wood, where the sun shone down upon the walls 
of the farmhouse, warming the blooming roses, and the 
cherry-trees, which hung full of juicy black berries, almost 
hot with the fierce beams, there sat the lovely wife of Sum- 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


5L 

mer, the same beiiij^ whom we have seen as a child and as 
a bride; and her glance was fixed upon the black gathering 
clouds, which in wavy outlines — blue-black and heavy — • 
were piling themselves up, like mountains, higher am? 
higher. They came from three sides, and growing like a 
petrified sea, they came swooping towards the forest, wliero 
every sound had been silenced as if by magic. Every 
breath of air was hushed, every bird was mute. There was 
a seriousness — a suspense throughout all nature; but in the 
highways and lanes, foot-passengers, and riders, and men in 
carriages were, hurrying onto get under shelter. Then sud- 
denly there was a flashing of light, as if the sun were burst 
forth— flaming, burning, all-devouring I And the darkness 
returned 'amid a rolling crash. The rain poured down in 
streams, and there was alternate darkness and blinding 
light; alternate silence and deafening clamor. The young-, 
brown, feathery reeds on the moor moved to and fro in long 
waves, the twigs of the woods were hidden in a mist of 
waters, and still came darkness and light, and still silence 
and roaring followed one another ; grass and corn lay 
beaten down and swamped, looking as though they could 
never raise themselves again. But soon the rain fell only in 
gentle drops, the sun peered through the clouds, the waters 
drops glittered like pearls on the leaves, the birds sang, the 
fishes leaped up from the surface of the lake, the gnats 
danced in the sunshine, and yonder on the rock, in the salt, 
heaving sea-water, sat Summer himself — a strong man with 
sturdy limbs and long dripping hair — there he sat, strengtli- 
ened by the cool bath, in the warm sunshine. All nature 
round about was renewed, every thing stood luxuriant, 
strong, and beautiful; it was Summer, warm, lovely Summer. 

And pleasant and sweet was the fragrance that streamed 
upwards from the rich clover-field, where the bees swarmed 


THE STORY OF THE YEAR. 


57 


round the old mined place of meeting : the bramble wound 
itself around the altar-stone, which, washed by the raiir 
glittered in the sunshine; and thither flew the queen-bee 
with her swarm, and prepared wax and honey. Only Sum- 
mer saw it, he and his strong wife; for them the altar-table 
stood covered with the offerings of nature. 

And the evening sky shone like gold, shone as no church 
dome can shine; and in the interval between the evening 
and the morning red, there was moonlight : it was Summer. 

And days went by, and weeks went by. The bright scythes 
of the reapers gleamed in the cornfields; the branches of 
the apple-trees bent down, heavy with red-aud-yellow fruit. 
The hops smelt sweetly, hanging in large clusters; and 
under the hazel-bushes where hung great bunches of nuts, 
rested a man and woman — Summer and his quiet consort. 

“ What wealth !” exclaimed the woman : “ all around a 
blessing is diffused, everywhere the scene looks homelike 
and good; and yet — I know not why — I long for peace and 
rest — I know not how to express it. Now they are already 
ploughing again in the field. The people want to gain more 
and more. See, the storks flock together, and follow at a 
little distance behind the plough — the bird of Egypt that 
carried us through the air. Do you remember how- we came 
as children to this land of the North ? We brought with 
us flowers, and pleasant sunshine, and green to the woods; 
the wind has treated them roughly, and they have become 
dark and brown like the trees of the South, but they do 
not, like them, bear fruit.’^ 

“ Do you wish to see the golden fruit ?” said the man : 
then rejoice.” And he lifted his arm, and the leaves of the 
forest put on hues of red and gold, and beauteous tints 
spread over all the woodland. The rose-bush gleamed with 
scarlet hips ; the elder-branches hung down with great 

3 * 


58 


andeksen’s tales. 


heavy bunches of dark berries; the wild chestnuts fell ripe 
from their dark husks; and in the depths of the forests the 
violets bloomed for the second time. 

But the Queen of the Year became more and more silent, 
and paler and paleiv “ It blows cold,” she said, “ and night 
In mgs damp mists. I long for the land of my childhood.” 

A ltd she saw the storks fly away, one and all; and she 
stretched forth her hands towards them. She looked up at 
the nests, which stood empty. In one of them the long- 
stalked cornflower was growing ; in another, the yellow 
mustard-seed, as if the nest were only there for its protec- 
tion and comfoi't; and the sparrows were flying up into the 
storks’ nests. 

‘‘ Piep ! where has the master gone ? I suppose he can’t 
bear it when the wind blows, and that therefore he has left 
the country. I wish him a pleasant journey I” 

The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf fell 
down upon leaf, and the stormy winds of autumn howled. 
The year was far advanced, and the Queen of the Year 
reclined upon the fallen yellow leaves, and looked with 
mild eyes at the gleaming star, and her husband stood by 
her. A gust swept through the leaves ; they fell again in 
a shower, and the Queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last 
of the season, flew through the cold air. 

The wet fogs came, an icy wind blew, and the long dark 
nights drew on apace. The Ruler of the Year stood there 
with locks white as snow, but he knew not it was his hair 
that gleamed so white — ^he thought snow-flakes were falling 
from the clouds ; and soon a thin covering of snow was 
spread over the fields. 

And then the church bells rang for the Christmas time. 

Tlie bells ring for the new-born,” said the Ruler of the 
Year. “ Soon the new king and queen will be born ; and 


THE STORY OF THE YEAR. 


69 


I shall go to rest, as my wife has done — to rest in tha 
gleaming star.’’ 

And in the fresh green fir-wood, where the snow lay, 
stood the Angel of Christmas, and consecrated the young 
trees that were to adorn his feast. 

“ May there be joy in the room, and under the green 
boughs,” said the Ruler of the Year. In a few weeks he 
had become a very old man, white as snow. My time for 
rest draws near, and the young pair of the year shall now 
receive my crown and sceptre.” 

“ But the might is still thine,” said the Angel of Christ- 
mas ; “ the might and not the rest. Let the snow lie 
warndy upon the young seed. Learn to bear it, that an- 
other receives homage while thou yet reignest. Learn to 
bear being forgotten while thou art yet alive. The hour of 
thy release will come when Spring appears.” 

“ And when will Spring come ?” asked Winter. 

“ It will come when the stork returns.” 

And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and 
hoary, but strong as the wintry storm, and firm as ice, old 
Winter sat on the snowy drift on the hill, looking towards 
the south, where he had before sat and gazed. The ice 
cracked, the snow creaked, the skaters skimmed to and fro 
on the smooth lakes, ravens and crows contrasted pictur- 
esquely with the white ground, and not a breath of wind 
stirred. And in the quiet air old Winter clenched his fists, 
and the ice was fathoms thick between land and land. 

Then the sparrows came again out of the town, and asked 
“ Who is that old man yonder ?” And the raven sat there 
again, or a son of his, which comes to quite the same thing, 
and answered them and said, “ It is Winter, the old man of 
last year. He is not dead, as the almanac says, but he is 
the guardian of Spring, who is coming.” 


60 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


When will Spring come asked the sparrows. “ Then 
we shall have good times, and a better rule. The old one 
was worth nothing.” 

And Winter nodded in quiet thought at the leafless forest, 
where every tree showed the graceful form and bend of its 
wigs ; and during the Winter sleep the icy mists of the 
clouds came down, and the ruler dreamed of his youthful 
days, and of the time of his manhood ; and towards the 
morning dawn the whole wood was clothed in glittering 
hoar-frost. That was the summer dream of Winter, and the 
sun scattered the hoar-frost from the boughs. 

“ When will Spring come ?” asked the sparrows. 

“ The Spring I” sounded like an echo from the hills on 
which the snow lay. The sun shone warmer, the snow 
melted, and the birds twittered, “ Spring is coming I” 

And aloft through the air came the first stork, and the 
second followed him. A lovely child sat on the back of 
each, and they alighted on the field, kissed the earth, and 
kissed the old silent man, and he disappeared, shrouded in 
the cloudy mist. And the story of the year was done. 

“ That is all very well,” said the sparrows ; “ it is very 
beautiful too, but it is not according to the almanac, and 
therefore it is irregular.” 


SHE WAS GOOD FOE NOTHING. 

The mayor stood at the open window. His shirt-frill was 
very fine, and so were his ruffles ; he had a breast-pin stuck 
in his frill, and was uncommonly smooth-shaven — all his 
own work ; certainly he had given himself a slight cut, but 


SHE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING. 


61 


he had stuck a bit of newspaper on the place. “Hark^03, 
ycungstcr he cried. 

The youngster in question was no other than the son of 
the poor washerwoman, who was just going past the house ; 
and he pulled off his cap respectfully. The peak of tlie 
said cap was broken in the middle, for the cap was arranged 
BO that it could be rolled up and crammed into his pocket. 
In his poor, but clean and well-mended attire, with heavy 
wooden shoes on his feet, the boy stood there, as humble 
and abashed as if he stood opposite the king himself. 

“You’re a good boy,” said Mr. Mayor. “You’re a civil 
boy. I suppose your mother is rinsing clothes yonder in 
the river ? I suppose jmu are to carry that thing to your 
mother that you have in your pocket ? That’s a bad affair 
with your mother. How much have you got in it ?” 

“ Half a quartern,” stammered the boy, in a frightened 
voice. 

“And this morning she had just as much,” the mayor 
continued. 

, “No,” replied the boy, “ it was yesterday.” 

“ Two halves make a whole. She’s good for nothing I 
It’s a sad thing with that kind of people I Tell your 
mother she ought to be ashamed of herself ; and mind you 
don’t become a drunkard — but you will become one, though. 
'Poor child — there, go I” 

Accordingly the boy went on his way. He kept his cap 
in his hand, and the wind played with his yellow hair, so 
that great locks of it stood up straight. He turned down 
by the street corner, into the little lane that led to the riverj 
where his mother stood by the washing bench, beating the 
heavy linen with the mallet. The water rolled quickly 
along, for the flood-gates at the mill had been drawn up, 
and tac sheets were caught by the stream, and threatened 


62 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


to overturn tlie bench. The washerwoman was oblig^jd t<l 
tcan against the bench, to support it. 

“ I was very nearly sailing away,” she said. “ It is a 
good thing that you are come, for I have need to recruit 
my strength a little. For six hours Pve been standing in 
the water. Have you brought anything for me V’ 

The boy produced the bottle, and the mother put it to her 
mouth, and took a little. 

“ Ah, how that revives one I” she said ; “ how it warms I 
It is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. And you, 
my boy ! you look quite pale. You are shivering in your 
thin clothes — to be sure it is autumn. Ugh I how cold the 
water is ! I hope I shall not be ill. But no, I shall not be 
that I Give me a little more, and you may have a sip too, 
but only a little sip, for you must not accustom yourself 
it, my poor dear child I” 

And she stepped up to the bridge on which the boy stood, 
and came ashore. The water dripped from the straw mat- 
ting she had wound round her, and from her gown. 

“ I work and toil as mucti as ever I can,” she said, “ but 
I do it willingly, if I can only manage to bring you up hon- 
estly and well, my boy.” 

As she spoke, a somewhat older woman came towards 
them. She was poor enough to behold, lame of one leg, 
with a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, 
which was a blind one. The curl was intended to cover the 
eye, but it only made the defect more striking. This was a 
friend of the laundress. She was called among the neigh- 
bours, “ Lame Martha with the curl.” 

“ Oh, you poor thing ! How you work, standing there in 
the water !” cried the visitor. “ You really require some- 
thing to warm you; and yet malicious folks cry out about 
the few drops you take !” And in a few minutes’ time the 


SHE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING. OS 

mayor’s lute speocli was reported to the laundress; for 
Martha liad heard it all, and she had been angry that a mat. 
could speak as he had done to a woman’s own child, al)out 
the few drops the mother took ; and she was the more angry, 
because the mayor on that very day was giving a great 
fe.'ist, at which wine was drunk by the bottle — good wine, 
strong wine. “ A good many will take more than they need 
— but that’s not called drinking. They are good; but you 
are good for nothing I” cried Martha, indignantly. 

“Ah, so he spoke to you, my child?” said the washer- 
woman; and her lips trembled as she spoke. “So he says 
you have a mother who is good for nothing ? Well, per- 
haps he’s right, but he should not have said it to the child. 
Still, I have had much misfortune from that house.” 

“You were in service there wdien the mayor’s parents 
were alive, and lived in that house. That is many years 
ago : many bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and 
we may well be thirsty;” and Martha smiled. “ Tliennajmr 
has a great dinner-party to-day. The guests were to have 
been put off, but It was too late, and the dinner was already 
cooked. The footman told me about it. A letter came a 
little while ago, to say that the younger brother had died 
in Copenhagen.” 

“ Died !” repeated the laundress — and she became pale as 
death. 

“Yes, certainly,” said Martha. “Do you take that so 
much to heart? Well, you must have known him years 
ago, when you were in service in the house.” 

“Is he dead ? He was such a good, worthy man I There 
are not many like him.” And the tears rolled down her 
cheeks. “ Good licavens ! every thing is whirling around 
me — it was too much for me. I feel quite ill.” And she 
leaned against the plank. 


\ 


64 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


“ Good heavens, you are ill indeed !” exclaimed the other 
woman. “Gome, come, it will pass over presently. But 
no, you really look seriously ill. The best thing will be for 
me to lead you home.” 

“But my linen yonder — ” 

“ I will take care of that. Come, give me your arm. 
The boy can stay here and tak^ care of it, and Pll come 
back and finish the washing ; that’s only a trifle.” 

The laundress’s limbs shook under her. “ I have stood 
too long in the cold water,” she said faintly, “ and I have 
eaten and drunk nothing since this morning. The fever is 
in my bones. 0 kind Heaven, help me to get home I My 
poor child I” and she burst into tears. The boy wept too, 
and soon he was sitting alone by the river, beside the 
damp linen. The two women could make only slow pro- 
gress. The laundress dragged her weary limbs along, and 
tottered through the lane and round the corner into the 
street where stood the house of the mayor; and just in front 
of his mansion she sank down on the pavement. Many 
people assembled round her, and Lame Martha ran into the 
house to get help. The mayor and his guests came to the 
window. 

“ That’s the washerwoman I” he said. “ She has taken a 
glass too much. She is good for nothing. It’s a pity for 
the pretty son she has. I really like the child very well* 
but the mother is good for nothing.” 

Presently the laundress came to herself, and they led her 
into her poor dwelling, and put her to bed. Kind Martha 
heated a mug of beer for her, with butter and sugar, which 
she considered the best medicine ; and then she hastened to 
the river, and rinsed the linen — badly enough, though her 
will was good. Strictly speaking, she drew it ashore, wet 
as it was, and laid it in a basket. 


SHE WAS GOOD FOE NOTHING. 


65 


Towards evening she was sitting in the poor little room 
with the laundi-ess. Tlie mayor’s cook had given her some 
roasted potatoes and a fine fat piece of ham, for the sick 
woman, and Martha and the boy discussed these viaiidg 
while the patient enjoyed the smell, which she pronouncef 
very nourishing. 

And presently the boy was put to bed, in the same bed ir 
which his mother lay; but he slept at her feet, covered with 
an old quilt made up of blue and white patches. 

Soon the patient felt a little better. The warm beer had 
strengthened her, and the fragrance of the provisions 
pleased her also. “Thanks, you kind soul,” she said to 
Martha. “ I will tell you all when the boy is asleep. I 
think he has dropped off already. How gentle and good he 
looks, as he lies there with his eyes closed ! He does not 
know what his mother has suffered, and Heaven grant he 
may never know it. I was in service at the councillor’s, 
the father of the mayor. It happened that the young-est of 
the sons, the student, came home. I was young then, a 
wild girl, but honest — that I may declare in the face of 
Heaven. The student was merry and kind, good and hvi^ve. 
Every drop of blood in him was good and honest. I have 
not seen a better man on this earth. He was the son of 
the house, and I was only a maid, but we formed an attach- 
ment to each other, honestly and honorably. And he told 
his mother of it, for she was in his eyes as a Deity on ear.th; 
and she was wise and gentle. He went away on a journey, 
but before he started he put his gold ring on my finger; 
and directly he was gone my mistress called me. With a 
firm yet gentle seriousness she spoke to me, and it seemed 
as if Wisdom itself were speaking. She showed me 
clearly, in spirit and in truth, the difference there was be- 
tween him and me. 

E 


66 


AXDEKSEN S TALES. 


“ ‘ xVow ho i.s cliannod with your pretty appearujice/ she 
said, ‘ but your good looks will leave you. You have not 
been educated as he has. You are not equals in mind, and 
there is the misfortune. I respect the poor,’ she continued; 
‘in the sight of God they may occupy a higher place than 
many a rich man can fill; but here on earth we must beware 
of entering a false track as we go onward, or our carriage 
is upset, and we are thrown into the road. I know that a 
worthy man wishes to marry you — an artisan — I mean 
Erich the glovemaker. He is a widower without children, 
and is well to do. Think it over.’ 

“ Every word she spoke cut into my heart like a knife, 
but I knew that my mistress was right, and that knowledge 
weighed heavily upon me. I kissed her hand, and wept 
bitter tears, and I wept 'still more when I went into my 
room and throw myself on my bed. It was a heavy night 
that 1 had to pass through. Heaven knows what I suffered 
and how I wrestled ! The next Sunday I went to the 
Lord’s house, to pray for strength and guidance. It seemed 
like a Providence, that as I stepped out of church Erich 
came towards me. And now there was no longer a doubt 
in my mind. We were suited to each other in rank and im 
means, and he was even then a thriving man. Therefore I 
went up to him, took his hand, and said, ‘ Are you still of 
the same mind towards me ?’ ‘ Yes, ever and alwaj^s,^ he 

replied. ‘ Will you marry a girl who honors and respects, 
but who does not love you — though that may come later ?’ 
I asked again. ‘ Yes, it will come I’ he answered; and upon 
this we joined hands. I went home to my mistress. I wore 
the gold ring that the son had given me at my heart. I 
could not put it on my finger in the daytime, but only in 
the evening when I went to bed. I kissed the ring again 
and again, tiP my lips almost bled, and then I gave it to 


SHE \rAS GOGH FOB NOTHING. 67 

my mistress, and t<,)ld her the banns were to be put up next 
week for me and the gdovemaker. Then my mistress pi, 
her arms round me and kissed me. She did not say that - 
was good for nothing; but perhaps I was better then than 
I am now, though the misfortunes of life had not yet foun 
me out. Tn a few weeks we were married; and for the first 
year the world went well with us : we had a journeyman 
and an apprentice, and you, Martha, lived with us as our 
servant.” 

“ Oh, you were a dear, good mistress,” cried Martha. 
“ Never shall I forget how kind you and your husband 
were !” 

“Yes, those were our good years, when you were with 
us. We had not any children yet. The student I never 
saw again. Yes, though, I saw him, but he did not see me. 
He was here at his mother^s funeral. I saw him stand by 
the grave. He was pale as death, and veiy downcast, but 
that was for his. mother; afterwards, when his father died, 
he was away in a foreign land, and did not come back 
hither. I know that he never married ; I believe he became 
a lawyer. He had forgotten me; and even if he had seen 
me again, he would not have known me, I look so ugly. 
And that is very fortunate.” 

And then she spoke of her days of trial, and told hovr 
misfortune had come, as it were swooping down upon them. 

“We had five hundred dollars,” she said; “ and as there 
was a house in the street to be bought for two hundred, and 
it would pay to pull it down and build a new one, it was 
bought. The^builder and carpenter calculated the exp(3nse, 
and the new house was tc cost ten hundred and twenty. 
Erich had credit, and borrowed the money in the chief town, 
but the captain who was to bring it was shipwrecked, and 
the money was lost with him. 


68 


ANDERSENS TALES. 


“Just at that time niy dear sweet boy who is sleeping 
yonder was born. My husband was struck down by a long 
heavy illness : for three quarters of a year I was compelled 
to dress and undress him. We went back more and more, 
and fell into debt. All that we had was sold, and my hus- 
band died. I have worked, and toiled, and striven, for tlio 
sake of the child, and scrubbed staircases, washed linen, 
clean and coarse alike, but I was not to be better off, such 
was God’s good will. But He will take me to Himself in 
His own good time, and will not forsake my boy.” And she 
fell asleep. 

Towards morning she felt much refreshed, and strong 
enough, as she thought, to go back to her work. She had 
just stepped again into the cold water, when a trembling 
and faintness seized her : she clutched at the air with her 
hand, took a step forward, and fell down. Her head rested 
on the bank, and her feet were still in the water : her 
wooden shoes, with a wisp of straw in each, which she had 
worn, floated down the stream, and thus Martha found her 
on coming to bring her some coffee. 

In the mean time a messenger from the mayoi'^s house had 
been dispatched to her poor lodging, to tell her “ to come to 
the mayor immediately, for he had something to tell her.” It 
was too late 1 A barber-surgeon was brought to open a 
vein in her arm; but the poor woman was dead. 

“ She has drunk herself to death I” said the mayor. 

In the letter that brought the news of his brother’s death 
the contents of the will had been mentioned, and it was a 
legacy of six hundred dollars to the glovemaker’s widow 
who had once been his mother’s maid. The money was to 
be paid, according to the mayor’s discretion, in large or 
smaller sums, to her or to her child. 

“ There was some fuss between my brother and her,” said 


“there is a difference.” 69 

the mayor. “ It’s a good thing that she’s dead ; for no\? 
the boy will have the whole, and I will get him into a house 
among respectable people. He may turn out a reputable 
working-man.” 

And Heaven gave its blessing to these words. 

So the mayor sent for the boy, promised to take care of 
him, and added that it was a good thing the lad’s mother 
was dead, inasmuch as she had been good for nothing. 

They bore her to the churchyard, to the cemetery of the 
poor, and Martha strewed sand upon her grave, and planted 
a rose tree upon it, and the. boy stood beside her. 

“ My dear mother I” he cried, as the tears fell fast. Is it 
true what they said — that she was good for nothing ?” 
“ No, she was good for much I” replied the old servant, and 
she looked up indignantly. ‘‘ I knew it many a year ago, 
and more than all since last night. I tell you she was 
worth much, and the Lord in heaven knows it is true, let 
the world say as much as it chooses, ‘ She was good for 
nothing.’ ” 


»THEEE IS A DIFEEEENCE.” 

It was in the month of May. The wind still blew cold, 
but bushes and trees, field and meadow, all alike said the 
spring had come. There was store of flowers even in the 
wild hedges ; and there spring carried on his affairs, and 
preached from a little apple-tree, where one branch hung 
fresh and blooming, covered with delicate pink blossoms 
that were just ready to open. The apple-tree branch knew 
well enough how beautiful lie was, for the knowledge is 


70 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


iDlierciit in the leaf as well as in the blood : and conse* 
quently the branch was not surprised when a nobleman’s 
carriage stopped opposite to him on the road, and the young 
countess said that an apple branch was the loveliest thing 
one could behold, a very emblem of spring in its most 
(‘.harming form. And the branch was most carefully broken 
off, and she held it in her delicate hand, and sheltered it 
with her silk parasol. Then they drove to the castle, where 
there were lofty halls and splendid apartments. Pure white 
curtains fluttered round the open windows, and beautiful 
flowers stood in shining transparent vases ; and in one of 
these, which looked as if it had been cut out of fresh-fallen 
snow, the apple branch was placed among some fresh light 
twigs of beech. It was charming to behold. 

But the branch became proud ; and this was quite like 
human nature. 

People of various kinds came through the room, and 
according to their rank they might express their admira- 
tion. A few said nothing at all, and others again said too 
much, and the apple-tree branch soon got to understand 
that there was a difference among plants. “ Some are 
created for beauty, and some for use ; and there are some 
which one can do without altogether,” thought the apple 
branch ; and as he stood just in front of the open window, 
from whence he could see into the garden and across the 
fields, he had flowers and plants enough to contemplate and 
to think about, for there were rich plants and humble plants 
— some very humble indeed. 

“ Poor despised herbs 1” said the apple branch. “ There 
is certainly a difference I And how unhappy they must 
feel, if indeed that kind can feel like myself and my equals. 
Certainly there is a difference, and distinctions must be 
made, or we should all be equal.” 


“ THERE IS A HIFFEKEXCE." 71 

And the apple branch looked down with a species of pity, 
especially upon a certain kind of flower of which great 
numbers are found in the flelds and ditches. No one bound 
them into a nosegay, they were too common ; for they 
might be found even among the paving-stones, shooting up 
everywhere like the rankest weeds, and they had the ugly 
name of “ dandelion,” or “ dog-flower.” 

“ Poor despised plants I” said the apple branch. “ It is 
not your fault that you received the ugly name you bear. 
But it is with plants as with men — there must be a dif- 
ference I” 

“ A difference ?” said the sunbeam ; and he kissed the 
blooming apple branch, and saluted in like maimer the yel- 
low daiidelions put in the field — all the brothers of the sun- 
beam kissed them, the poor flowers as well as the rich. 

Now the apple branch had never thought of the bound- 
less beneficence of Providence in creation towards every 
thing that lives and moves and has its being ; he had never 
thought how much that is beautiful and good may be hid- 
den, but not forgotten ; but that, too, was quite like human 
nature. 

The sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better ; and said, 
*^You donT see far, and you don’t see clearly. What is 
the despised plant that you especially pity ?” 

‘‘ The dandelion,” replied the apple branch. “ It is never 
received into a nosegay; it is trodden under foot There are 
too many of them ; and when they run to seed, they fly 
away like little pieces of wool over the roads, and hang and 
cling to people’s dress. They are nothing but weeds — but 
it is right there should be weeds too. Oh, I’m really very 
thankful that I was not created one of those flowers.” 

But there came across the fields a whole troop of chil- 
dren ; the youngest of whom was so small that it was car- 


72 


Andersens tales. 


ried by the rest, and when it was set down in the giasfl 
amon^ the yellow flowers it laughed aloud with glee, 
kicked out with its little legs, rolled about and plucked the 
yellow -flowers, and kissed them in. its pretty innocence. 
The elder children broke off the flowers with their tall 
stalks, and bent the stalks round into one another, link by 
link, so that a whole chain was made ; first a necklace, and 
then a scarf to hang over their shoulders and tie round their 
waists, and then a chaplet to wear on the head : it was 
quite a gala of green links and yellow flowers. The eldest 
children carefully gathered the stalks on which hung the 
white feathery ball, formed by the flowers that had run to 
seed ; and this loose, airy wool-flower, which is a beauti- 
ful object, looking like the finest snowy down, they:. held tc 
their mouths, and tried to blow away the whole head at one 
breath : for their grandmother had said that whoever could 
do this would be sure to get new clothes before the year 
was out. So on this occasion the despised flower was 
actually raised to the rank of a prophet or augur. 

“ Do you see ?” said the sunbeam. “ Do you see the 
beauty of those flowers ? do you see their power ?” 

“ Yes, over the children^” replied the apple branch. 

And now an old woman came into the field, and began to 
dig with a blunt shapeless knife round the root of the 
dandelion plant, and pulled it up out of the ground. Witli 
some of the roots she intended to Tnake tea for herself ; 
others she was going to sell for money fo the drug- 
gist. 

“ But beauty is a higher thing I” said the apple-tree 
branch. “ Only the chosen few can be admitted into the 
realm of beauty. There is a diflerenco ’ among plants, just 
as there is a difference among men.” 

And then the sunbeam spoke of the boundless love of the 


73 


“there is a difference.’’ 

Creator, as manifested in the creation, and of the just dis- 
tribution of things in time and in eternity. 

“ Yes, yes, that is your opinion,” the apple branch per- 
sisted. 

But now some people came into the room, and the beau- 
tiful youijg countess appeared, the lady who had placed tlie 
apple branch in the transparent vase in the sunlight. She 
curried in her hand a flower, or something of the kind. The 
object, whatever it might be, was hidden by three or four 
great leaves, wrapped round it like a shield, that no draught 
or gust of wind should injure it ; and it was carried more 
carefully than the apple bough had ever been. Very gently 
the large leaves were now removed, and lo, there appeared 
the fine feathery seed crown of the despised dandelion I 
I’his it was that the lady had plucked with , the greatest 
care, and had carried home with every precaution, so that 
not one of the delicate feathery darts that form its downy 
ball should be blown away. She now produced it, quite 
uninjured, and admired its beautiful form, its peculiar con-' 
struction, and its airy beauty, which was to be scattered by 
the wind. 

“Look, with what singular beauty Providence has 
invested it I” she said. “ I will paint it, together with the 
apple branch, whose beauty all have admired; but this 
humble flower has received just as much from Heaven in a 
different way; and, various as they are, both are children 
of the kingdom of beauty.” 

And the sunbeam kissed the humble flower, and ho kissed 
the blooming apple branch, whose leaves appeared covered 
with a roseate blush 


4 


74 


ANDEKSEN'S TALES. 


EYEEY THING IN ITS EIGHT PLACE. 

It is more than a hundred years ago. 

Behind the wood, the great lake, stood the old baronial 
mansion, Eound about it lay a deep moat, in which grow 
reeds and grass. Close by the bridge, near the entrance- 
gate, rose an old willow-tree that bent over the reeds. 

Up from the hollow lane sounded the clang of horns and 
the trampling of horses; therefore the little girl who kept 
the geese hastened to drive her charges away from the 
bridge, before the hunting company should come galloping 
up. They drew near with such speed that the girl was 
obliged to climb up in a hurry, and perch herself on the 
coping-stone of the bridge, lest she should be ridden down. 
She was still half a child, and had a pretty light figure, and 
a gentle expression in her face, with two clear blue eyes. 
The noble baron took no note of this, but as he galloped 
past the little goose-herd he reversed the whip he held in 
his hand, and in rough sport gave her such a push in the 
chest with the butt-end, that, she fell backwards into the 
ditch. 

“ Every thing in its place,” he cried; “into the puddle 
with you I” And he laughed aloud, for this was intended 
for wit, and the company joined in his mirth : the whole 
party shouted and clamored, and the dogs barked their 
loudest. 

Fortunately for herself, the poor girl in falling seized one 
of the hanging branches of the willow-tree, by means of 
wdiich she kept herself suspended over the muddy water, 
and as soon as the baron and his company had disappeared 
through the castle-gate, the girl tried to scramble up again; 


EVERY THING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. Y5 

but the bough broke ofl' at the top, and she would have 
fallen backward among the reeds, if a strong hand from 
above had not at that moment' seized her. It was the hand 
of a pedler, who had seen from a short distance wdiat had 
happened, and who row hurried up to give aid. 

“ Every thing in its right place,’' he said, mimicking the 
gracious baron; and he drew the little maiden up to the 
firm ground. He would have restored the broken branch 
to the place from which it had been torn, but “ every thing 
in its place” cannot always be managed, and therefore he 
stuck the piece in the ground. “ Grow and prosper till you 
can furnish a good flute for them up yonder,” he said; for 
he would have liked to play the “ rogue’s march” for my 
lord the baron, and my lord’s whole family. And then he 
betook himself to the castle, but not into the ancestral hall, 
he was too humble for that I He went to the servants’ 
quarters, and the men and maids turned over his stock of 
goods, and bargained with him; and from above, where the 
guests were at table, came a sound of roaring and scream- 
ing that was intended for song, and indeed they did their 
best. Loud laughter, mingled with the barking and howl- 
ing of dogs, sounded through the windows, for there was 
feasting and carousing up yonder. Wine and strong old 
ale foamed in the jugs and glasses, and the dogs sat with 
their masters and dined with them. They had the pedler 
summoned upstair^, but only to make fun of him. The 
wine had mounted into their heads, and the sense had flown 
out. Tli3y poured wine into a stocking, that the pedler 
might drink with them, but that he must drink quickly; 
that was considered a rare jest, and was a cause of fresh 
laughter. And then whole farms, with oxen and peasants 
too, were staked on a card, and won and lost. 

“ Every tiling in its rigid place I” said tlie pedler, wher 


76 


andeksen’s tales. 


he liad at last made his escape out of what he called “the 
Sodom and Gomorrah up yonder.” “ The open high-road is 
my right place,” he said; “ I did not feel at all happy there.^ 
And the little maiden who sat keeping the geese nodded at 
him in a friendly way, as he strode along beside the hedges. 

And days and weeks went by; and it became manifest 
that the willow branch which the pedler had stuck into the 
ground by the castle moat remained fresh and green, and 
even brought forth new twigs. The little goose-girl saw that 
the branch must have taken root, and rejoiced greatly at 
the circumstance ; for this tree, she said, was now her 
tree. 

The tree certainly came forward well; but every thing 
else belonging to the castle went very rapidly back, what 
with feasting and gambling — for these two things are like 
wheels, upon which no man can stand securely. 

Six years had not passed away before the noble lord 
passed out of the castle-gate, a beggared man, and the 
mansion was bought by a rich dealer; and this purchaser 
was the very man who bad once been made a jest of there, 
for whom wine had been poured into a stocking ; but 
honesty and industry are good winds to speed a vessel ; and 
now the dealer was possessor of the baronial estate. But 
from that hour no more card-playing was permitted there. 
“ That is bad reading,” said he : “when the Evil One saw a 
Bible for the first time, he wanted to put a bad book against 
it, and invented card-playing.’^ 

- The new proprietor took a wife; and who might that be 
but the goose-girl, who had always been faithful and good, 
and looked as beautiful and fine in her new clotlies as if she 
had been born a great lady. And how did all this come 
about ? That is too long a story for our busy time, but it 
really happened, and the most important part is to come. 


EVEKY THING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. Y7 

It was a good thing now to be in the old mansion. The 
mother managed the domestic afiairs, and the father superin- 
tended the estate, and it seemed as if blessings were 
sireaming’ down. Where rectitude enters in, prosperity is 
sure to follow. The old house was cleaned and painted, 
the ditches were cleared and fruit-trees planted. Every 
thing wore a bright cheerful look, and the floors were as 
polished as a draught-board. In the long winter evenings 
the lady sat at the spinning-wheel with her maids, and 
every Sunday evening there was a reading from the Bible, 
by the Councillor of J ustice himself — this title the dealer 
had gained, though it was only in his old age. The chil- 
dren grew up — for children had come — and they received 
the best education, though all had not equal abilities, as we 
find indeed in all families. 

In the mean time the willow branch at the castle-gate had 
grown to be a splendid tree, which stood there free and 
self-sustained. “ That is our genealogical tree,” the old 
people said, and the tree was to be honored and respected 
— so they told all the children, even those who had not very 
good heads. 

And a hundred years rolled by. 

It was in our own time. The lake had been con- 
verted to moorland, and the old mansion had almost dis- 
appeared. A pool of water and the ruins of some walls, 
this was all that was left of the old baronial castle, with 
its deep moat; and here stood also a magnificent old willow, 
with pendent boughs, which seemed to show how beautiful 
a tree may be if left to itself. The main stem was certainly 
split from the root to the crown, and the storm had bowed 
the noble tree a little; but it stood firm for all that, and 
from every cleft into which wind and weather had carried a 
portion of earth, grasses and flowers sprang forth : espe- 


78 


aitdersen’s tales. 


cially near the top, where the great branches parted, a sort 
of hanging-garden had been formed of wild raspberry bush, 
and even a small quantity of mistletoe had taken root, and 
stood, slender and graceful, in the midst of the old willow 
which was mirrored in the dark water. A field-path led 
close by the old tree. 

High by the forest hill, with a splendid prospect in every 
direction, stood the new baronial hall, large and magnifi- 
cent, with panes of glass so clearly transparent, that it 
looked as if there were no panes there at all. The grand 
flight of steps that led to the entrance looked like a bower 
of roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as freshly 
green as if each separate blade of grass were cleaned 
morning and evening. In the. hall hung costly pictures; 
silken chairs and sofas stood there, so easy that they looked 
almost as if they could run by themselves ; there were 
tables of great marble slabs, and books bound in morocco 
and gold. Yes, truly, wealthy people lived here, people of 
rank — the baron with his family. 

All things here corresponded with each other. The motto 
was still, “ Every thing in its right place;” and therefore all 
the pictures which had been put up in the old house for 
lionor and glory hung now in the passage that led to the 
servants’ hall : they were considered as old lumber, and 
especially two old portraits, one representing a man in a 
pink coat and powdered wig, the other a lady with powdered 
nair and holding a rose in her hand, and each surrounded 
with a wreath of willow leaves. These two pictures were 
pierced with many holes, because the little barons were in 
the habit of setting up the old people as a mark for their 
cross-bows. The pictures represented the Councillor of 
Justice and his lady, the founders of the present family. 

“But they did not properly belong to our family,” said 


EVERY THING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 


one of the little barons. “He was a dealer, and she had 
kept the geese. .They were not like papa and. mamma.” 

The pictures were pronounced to be worthless; and as 
the motto was “ Every thing in its right place,” the great- 
grandmother and great-grandfather had been sent into the 
passage that led to the servants’ hall. 

The son of the neighboring clergyman was tutor in the 
great house. One day he was out walking with his pupils, 
the little barons and their eldest sister, who had just been 
confirmed ; they came along the field-path, past the old 
willow, and as they walked on the young lady bound a 
wreath of field flowers, “ Every thing in its right place,” and 
the flowers formed a pretty whole. At the same time she 
heard every word that was spoken, and she liked to hear 
the clergyman’s son talk of the power of nature and of the 
great men and women in history. She had a good hearty 
disposition, with true nobilit}’’ of thought and soul, and a 
heart full of love for all that God hath created. 

The party came to a halt at the old willow- tree. The 
youngest baron insisted on having such a flute cut for him 
from it as lie had made of other willows. Accordingly the 
tutor broke off a br^inch. 

“ Oh, don’t do that !” cried the young baroness ; but it 
was done already. “ That is our famous old tree,” he con- 
tinued, “ and I love it dearly. They laugh at me at home 
for this, but I don’t mind. There is a story attached to this 
tree.” 

And she told what we all knew about the tree, about the 
old mansion, the pedler and the goose-girl, who had met for 
the first time in this spot, and had afterwards become the 
founders of the noble family to which the young barons be- 
longed. 

“They would not be ennobled, the good old folks!” she 


80 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


said. “ They kept to the motto, ‘ Every thing in its right 
place and accordingly they thought it would be out of 
place for them to purchase a title with money. My grand- 
father, the first baron, was their son : he is said to have 
been a very learned man, very popular with princes and 
princesses, and a frequent guest at the court festivals. The 
others at home love him best ; but, I don’t know how, 
there seems to me something about that first pair that 
draws my heart towards them. How comfortable, how 
patriarchal it must have been in the old house, where the 
mistress sat at the spinning-wheel among her maids, and 
the old master read aloud from the Bible I” 

“ They were charming, sensible people,” said the clergy- 
man’s son ; and with this the conversation naturally fell 
upon nobles and citizens. The young man scarcely seemed 
to belong to the citizen class, so well did he speak concern- 
ing the purpose and meaning of nobility. He said : 

“ It is a great thing to belong to a family that has dis- 
tinguished itself, and thus to have, as it were, in one’s 
blood, a spur that urges one on to make progress in all that 
is good. It is delightful to have a name that serves as a 
card of admission into the highest circles. Nobility means 
that which is great and noble ; it is a coin that has received 
a stamp to indicate what it is worth. It is the fallacy of 
the time, and many poets have frequently maintained this 
fallacy, that nobility of birth is accompanied by foolishness, 
and that the lower you go among the poor,. the more does 
everything around shine. But that is not my view, for I 
consider it entirely false. In the higher classes many beau- 
tiful and kindly traits are found. My mother told me one 
of this kind, and I could tell you many others. 

“ My mother was on a visit to a great family in town. 
My grandmother, I think, had been housekeeper to th 


EVERY THING IN ITS RCGHT PLACE. 


81 


count’s mother. The great nobleman and my mother were 
alone in the room, when the former noticed that an old 
woman came limping on crutches into the courtyard. In 
deed, she was accustomed to come every Sunday, ajid carry 
away a gift with her. ‘ Ah, there is the poor old lady,’ said 
the nobleman : ‘ walking is a great toil to her •/ and before 
my mother understood what he meant, he had gone out of 
tlie room and run down the stairs, to save the old woman 
the toilsome walk, by carrying to her the gift she had come 
to receive. 

“ Now, that was only a small circumstance, but, like the 
widow’s two mites in the Scripture, it has a sound that finds 
an echo in the depths of the heart in human nature ; and 
these are the things the poet should show and point out ; 
especially in these times should he sing of it, for that does 
good, and pacifies and unites men. But where a bit of 
mortality, because it has a genealogical tree and a coat of 
arms, rears up like an Arabian horse, and prances in the 
street, and says in the room, ‘ People out of the street have 
been here,’ when a commoner has been — that is nobility in 
decay, and become a mere mask — a mask of the kind that 
Thespis created ; and people are glad when such a one is 
turned into satire.” 

This was the speech of the clergyman’s son. It was cer- 
tainly rather long, but then the flute was being finished 
while he made it. 

At the castle there was a great company. Many guests 
came from the neighborhood and from the capital. Many 
ladies, some tastefully and others tastelessly dressed, were 
there, and the great hall was quite full of people. The 
clergymen from the neighborhood stood respectfully con- 
gregated in a corner, which made it look almost as if there 
were to be a burial there. Bu it was not so, for this was 

4 * 


ANl>ii:iiSEN’s TALES. 


a party of pleasure, only that the pleasure had not yet 
begun. 

A great concert was to be performed, and consequently 
the little baron had brought in his willow flute; but he could 
not get a note out of it, nor could his papa, and therefore 
the flute was worth nothing. There was instrumental music 
and song, both of the kind that delight the performers most 
— quite charming ! 

You are a performer said a cavalier — his father’s son 
and nothing else — to the tutor. “ You play the flute and 
make it too — that’s genius. That should command, and 
should have the place of honor 1” 

“No indeed,” replied the young man, “ I only advance 
with the times, as every one is obliged to do.” 

“ Oh, you will enchant us with the little instrument, will 
you not ?” And with these words he handed to the clergy- 
man’s son the flute cut from the willow-tree by the pool, 
and announced aloud that the tutor was about to perform a 
solo on that instrument. 

Now, they only wanted to make fun of him, that was 
easily seen ; and therefore the tutor would not play, though 
indeed he could do so very well ; but they crowded round 
him and importuned him so strongly, that at last he took 
the flute and put it to his lips. 

That was a wonderful flute I A sound, as sustained as 
that which is emitted by the whistle of a steam-engine, and 
much stronger, echoed far over courtyard, garden, and 
wood, miles away into the country ; and simultaneously 
with the tone came a rushing wind that roared, “ Every 
thing in its right place 1” And papa flew as if carried by 
the wind straight out of the hall and into the shepherd’s cot ; 
and the shepherd flew, not into the hall, for tliere he could 
not come — no, but into the room of the servants, among the 


EVERY THING IN ITS RIGHT RLACE. S3 

smart lacqueys who strutted about there in silk stockings ; 
and the proud servants were struck motionless with horror 
at the thought that such a personage dared to sit down to 
table with them. 

‘But in the hall the young baroness flew to the place of 
honor at the top of the table, where she was worthy to sit ; 
and the young clergyman’s son had a seat next to her ; and 
there the two sat as if they were a newly married pair. An 
old count of one of the most ancient families in the country 
remained untouched in his place of honor; for the flute 
was just, as men ought to be. The witty cavalier, the son 
of his father and nothing else, who had been the cause of 
the flute-playing, flew head-over-heels into the poultry-house 
— but not alone. 

For a whole mile round about the sounds of the flute 
were heard, and singular events took place. A rich banker’s 
famil}^ driving along in a coach and four, was blown quite 
out of the carriage, and could not even find a place on the 
footboard at the back. Two rich peasants, who in our times 
had grown too high for their cornfields, were tumbled into 
the ditch. It was a 'dangerous flute, that : luckily it burst 
at the first note, and that was a good thing, for then it was 
put back into the owner’s pocket. “ Every thing in its right 
place.” 

The day afterwards not a word was said about this mar 
vellous event ; and thence has come the expression “ pocket- 
ing the flute.” Every thing was in its usual order, only 
that .the two old portraits of the dealer and the goose-gir 
hung on the wall in the banqueting hall. They had been 
blown up yonder, and as one of the real connoisseurs said 
thev had been painted by a master’s hand, they remained 
where they were, and were restored. “ Every thing in its 
right place.” 


84 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


And lo that it will come ; for hereafter is long — ^longer 
than this story. 


THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTEE. 

There was once a regular student : he lived in a garret, 
and nothing at all belonged to him. But there was also once 
a regular huckster : he lived on the ground-floor, and the 
whole house was his ; and the goblin kept with him, for on 
the huckster’s table on Christmas Eve there was always a 
dish of plum-porridge, with a great piece of butter float- 
ing in the middle. The huckster could accomplish that ; 
and consequently the goblin stuck to the huckster’s shop, 
and that was very interesting. 

One evening the student came through the back door to 
buy candles and cheese for himself. He had no one to send, 
and that’s why he came himself. He procured what he 
wanted and paid for it, and the huckster and his wife both 
nodded a “good-evening” to him; and the woman was one 
who could do more than merely nod — she had an immense 
power of tongue I And the student nodded too, and then 
suddenly stood still, reading the sheet of paper in which the 
cheese had been wrapped. It was a leaf torn out of an 
old book, a book that ought not to have been torn up, a 
book that was full of poetry. 

“Yonder lies some more of the same sort,” said the 
huckster: “I gave an old woman a little coffee for the 
books; give me two groschen, and you shall have the re- 
mainder.” 

“Yes,” said the student, “give me the book instead of 
the cheese : I cati cat my bread and butter without c-hecso 


THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER. 


85 


It would be a sin to tear the book up entirely. You are a 
capital man, a practical man, but you understand no more 
about poetry than does that cask yonder.” 

Now, that was an insulting speech, especially towards 
the cask ; but the huckster laughed and the student laughed, 
for it was only said in fun. But the goblin was angry that 
any one should dare to say such things to a huckster who 
lived in his own house and sold the best butter. 

When it was night, and the shop was closed and all were 
in bed, the goblin came forth, went into the bedroom, and 
took away the good lady’s tongue', for she did not want 
that while she was asleep; and whenever he put this tongue 
upon any object in the room, the said object acquired speech 
and language, and could express its thoughts and feelings 
as well as the lady herself could have done; but only one 
object could use it at a time, and that was a good thing, 
otherwise they would have interrupted each other. 

And the goblin laid the tongue upon the cask in which 
the old newspapers were lying. 

“ Is it true,” he asked, “ that you don’t know what poetry 
means ?” 

“ Of course I know it,” replied the cask : “ poetry is 
something that always stands at the foot of a column in the 
newspapers, and is sometimes cut out. I dare swear I have 
more of it in me than the student, and I’m only a poor till) 
compared to the huckster.” 

Then the goblin put the tongue upon the coffee-mill, and, 
mercy ! how it began to go I And he put it upon the 
butter-cask, and on the cash-box : they were all ot the 
waste-paper cask’s opinion, and the opinion of the majority 
must be respected. 

“Now I shall tell it to the student 1” And witli these 
words the goblin went quietly up the back stairs to tho 


86 


andeksen’s tales. 


garret where the student lived. The student had still a 
candle burning, and the goblin peeped through the key- 
hole, and saw that he was reading in the torn book that he 
had carried up out of the shop down-stairs. 

But how light it was in his room I Out of the book shot 
a clear beam, ejxpanding into a thick stem, and into a 
mighty tree, which grew upward and spread its branches 
far over the student. Each leaf was fresh, and every 
blossom was a beautiful female head, some with dark spark- 
ling eyes, others with wonderfully clear blue orbs; every 
fruit was a gleaming star, and there was a glorious sound 
of song in the student’s room. 

Never had the little goblin imagined such splendor, far 
less had he ever seen or heard any thing like it. He stood 
still on tiptoe, and peeped in till the light went out in the 
student’s garret. Probably the student blew it out, and 
wolit to bed; but the little goblin remained standing there 
nevertheless, for the music still sounded on, soft and beauti-' 
ful — a splendid cradle-song for the student, who had lain 
dowm to rest. 

“ This is an incomparable place,” said the goblin : “ 1 
never expected such a thing I I should like to stay here 
with the student.” And then the little man thought it over 
— and he was a sensible little man too — but he sighed, 
“ The student has no porridge !” And then he went down 
again to the huckster’s shop : and it was a very good thing 
that he got down there again at last, for the cask had 
almost worn out the good woman’s tongue, for it had spoken 
out at one side every thing that was contained in it, and was 
just about turning itself over, to give it out from the other 
side also, when the goblin came in, and restored the tongue 
to its owner. But from that time forth the whole slutp, from 
the cash-box down to tlie iirewood, took its tone IVom the 


THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER. 87 

cask, and paid him such respect, and thought so nnich of 
him, that when the huckster afterwards read the critical 
articles on theatricals and art in the newspaper, ihey were 
all persuaded the information came from the cask itself. 

But the goblin could no longer sit quietly and contentedly 
listening to all the wisdom down there ; so soon as the 
light glimmered from the garret in the evening lie felt as if 
the rays were strong cables drawing him up, and he w-as 
obliged to go and peep through the keyhole; and there a 
feeling of greatness rolled around him, such as we feel 
besides the ever-heaving sea when the storm rushes over it, 
and he burst into tears I He did not know himself why he 
was weeping, but a peculiar feeling of pleasure mingled 
with his tears. How wonderfully glorious it must be to sit 
with the student under the same tree I But that might not 
be, he was obliged to be content with the view through the 
keyhole, and to be glad of that. There he stood on the 
cold landing-place, with the autumn wind blowing down 
from the loft-hole : it was cold, very cold; but the little 
mannikin only felt that when the light in the room was ex- 
tinguished, and the tones in the tree died away. Ha I then 
he shivered, and crept down again to his warm corner, where 
it was homely and comfortable. 

And when Christmas came, and brought with it the por- 
ridge and the great lump of butter, why, then he thought 
the huckster the better man. 

But in the middle of the night the goblin was awaked by 
a terrible tumult and beating against the window-shutters. 
People rapped noisily without, and the watchman blew hia 
horn, for a great fire had broken out — the whole street was 
full of smoke and fiame. Was it in the house itself, or at a 
neighbor’s ? Where was it ? Terror seized on all. The 
huckster’s wife was so bewildered that she took hef gold 


88 


AXDERSEN S TALES. 


earrings out of her ears and put them in her pocket, that at 
any rate she might save something; the huckster ran for 
his sliare-papers; and the maid for her black silk mantilla, 
for she had found means to purchase one. Each one wanted 
to save the best thing they had; the goblin wanted to io 
the same thing, and in a few leaps he was up the stairs, and 
into the room of the student, who stood quite quietly at the 
open window, looking at the conflagration that was raging 
in the house of the neighbor opposite. The goblin seized 
upon the wonderful book which lay upon the table, popped 
it into his red cap, and held the cap tight with both hands. 
The great treasure of the house was saved; and now he 
ran up and away, quite on to the roof of the house, on to 
the chimney. There he sat, illuminated by the flames of 
the burning house opposite, both hands pressed tightly over 
his cap, in which the treasure lay; and now he knew the 
real feelings of his heart, and knew to whom it really be- 
longed. But when the fire was extinguished, and the goblin 

could think calmly again, why, then 

“I must divide myself between the two,” he said; “1 
can’t quite give up the huckster, because of the porridge I” 
Now, that was spoken quite like a human creature. We 
all of us visit the huckster, for the sake of the porridge. 


IN A THOUSAND TEARS. 

Yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of 
Bteam through the air, over the ocean I The young inhabit- 
ants of America will become visitors of old Europe. They 
will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, 


IN A THOUSAND YEARS. 89 

which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make 
pilg-rimag'es to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia. 
In a thousand years they will come I 

The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their 
course. Mint Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped sum- 
mit, and the Northern Lights gleam over the lands of the 
North; but generation after generation has become dust, 
whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, 
like those who already slumber under the hill on which the 
rich trader whose ground it is has built a bench, on which 
he can sit and look out across his waving cornfields. 

“To Europe!” cry the young sons of America; “to the 
land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and 
fancy — to Europe !” 

The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passen- 
gers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. The electro- 
magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the 
number of the aerial caravan. Europe is in sight : it is the 
coast of Ireland that they see, but the passengers are still 
asleep; they will not be called till they are exactly over 
England. There they will first step upon European shore, 
the land of Shakspeare, as the educated call it; in the land 
of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others. 

Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the 
busy race can devote to the whole of England and Scotland. 
Then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the 
English Channel, to France, the ^land of Charlemagne and 
Napoleon. Moliere is named : the learned men talk of the 
classic school of remote antiquity : there is rejoicing and 
shouting for tlie names of heroes, poets, and men of science, 
whom our time does not know, but who will be born aftoi 
our time in Paris, the crater of Europe. 

The air steamboat flies over the country whence Colum 


90 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


bus went forth, where Cortes was born, and where Cahieron 
sang dramas in sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed 
women live still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest 
songs speak of the Cid and the Alhambra. 

Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once 
lay old, everlasting Borne. It has vanished I The Cam- 
pagna lies desert : a single ruined wall is shown as the 
remains of St. Peter’s, but there is a doubt if this ruin be 
genuine. 

Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the 
top of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; 
and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there 
a few hours, and see the place where Byzantium lay; and 
where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of 
the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets. 

Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, 
cities which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; 
but here and there, on the rich sites of those that time 
will bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends, and de- 
parts again. 

Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a 
close net of railways and canals, the region where Luther 
spoke, where Goethe sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre 
of harmony I Great names shine there, in science and in 
art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted to see- 
ing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted 
and Linnmus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes 
and the young Normans. 'Iceland is visited on the journey 
home : the geysers burn no more. Heel a is an extinct vol- 
cano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the 
foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry. 

“ There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe,” says 
the young American, “ and we have seen it in a week, ao 


THE BOND OF FBIENDSniP. 91 

cording to the directions of the great traveller^’ (and here 
he mentions the name of one of his (jonternporaries) “ in 
his celebrated work, ‘How to see all Europe in a Week^^ 


THE BOND OF FEIENDSHIP. 

We have just taken a little journey, and already we 
want to take a longer one. Whither ? To Sparta, to My- 
cene, to Delphi ? There are a hundred places at whose 
names the heart beats with the desire of travel. On horse- 
back we go up the mountain paths, through brake and 
through brier. A single traveller makes an appearance 
like a whole caravan. He rides forward with his guide, a 
pack-horse carries trunks, a tent, and provisions, and a few 
armed soldiers follow as a guard. No inn with warm beds 
awaits him at the end of his tiring day^s journey : the tent 
is often bis dwelling-place. In the great wild region the 
guide cooks him a pillau of rice, fowls, and curry for his 
supper. A thousand gnats swarm round the tent. It is a 
boisterous night, and to-morrow the way will lead across 
swollen streams; take care you are not washed away ! 

What is your reward for undergoing these hardships? 
The fullest, richest reward. Nature manifests herself here 
in all her greatness; every spot is historical, and the eye 
and the thoughts are alike delighted. The poet may sing 
it, the painter portray it in rich pfcturcs; but the air of 
reality which sinks deep into the soul of the spectator, and 
remains there, neither painter nor poet can produce. 

In many little sketches I have endeavored to give an 
idea of a small part of Athens and its environs; but how 


92 


Al^DERSEN'S TALES. 


colorless the picture seems ! ILnv little does it c xliibit 
Greece, the mourning genius of beauty, whose greatness 
and whose sorrow the stranger never forgets I 

The lonely herdsman yonder on the hills would, perhaps, 
by a simple recital of an event in his life, better enlighten 
the stranger who wishes in a few features to behold the 
land of the Hellenes, than any picture could do. 

“ Then,” says my Muse, “ let him speak.” A custom, a 
good, peculiar custom, shall be the subject of the mountain 
shepherd’s tale. It is called 

THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP. 

Our rude house was put together of clay; but the door- 
posts were columns of fluted marble found near the spot 
where the house was erected. The roof reached almost 
down to the ground. It was now dark brown and ugly, 
but it had originally consisted of blooming olive and fresh 
laurel branches brought 4Vom beyond the mountain. Around 
our dwelling was a narrow gorge, whose walls of rock rose 
steeply upwards, and showed naked and black, and round 
their summits often hung clouds, like white living figures. 
Ne\«er did I hear a singing bird there, never did the men 
there dance to the sound of the bagpipe; but the spot was 
sacred from the old times; even its name reminded of this, 
for it was called Delphi I The dark solemn mountains were 
all covered with snow; the highest, which gleamed the 
longest in the red light of evening, was Parnassus ; the 
brook which rolled from it near our house was once sacred 
also. Now the ass sullies it with its feet, but the stream 
rolls on and on, and becomes clear again. How I can re- 
member every spot in the deep, holy solitude ! In the 
midst of the hut a fire was kindled, and when the hot 


THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP. 9B 

ashes lay there red and glowing, the l»i-cad was I aked in 
them. When the snow was piled so high around our 1ml 
as almost to hide it, my mother appeared most cheerful : 
then she would hold my head between her hands, and sing 
the songs she never sang at any other times, for the Turks 
our masters would not allow it. She sang : 

“ On the summit of Olympus, in the forest of dwarf firs, 
lay an old stag. His eyes .were lieavy with tears; he wept 
blue and even red tears; and there came a roebuck by, 
and said, ‘ What ails thee, that thou weepest those blue 
and red tears And the stag answered, ‘ The Turk has 
come to our city: he has wild dogs for the chase, a goodly 
pack.’ ‘ I will drive them away across the islands,’ cried 
the young roebuck, ‘ I will drive them away across the 
islands into the deep sea I’ But before evening sunk down 
the roebuck was slain, and before night the stag was 
hunted and dead.” 

And when my mother sang thus, her eyes became moist, 
and on the long eyelashes hung a tear; but she hid it, and 
baked her black bread in the ashes. Then I would clench 
my fist and cry, “ We will kill the Turks I” but she repeated 
from the song the words, “I will drive them across the 
islands into the deep sea. But before evening sank down 
the roebuck was slain, and before the night came the stag 
was hunted and dead.” 

For several days and nights we had been Jonely in our 
hut, when my father came home. I knew he would bring 
me shells from the Grulf of Lepanto, or perhaps even a 
bright gleaming knife. This time he brought us a child, a 
little half-naked girl, that he brought under his sheepskin 
cloak. It was wrapped in fur, and all that the little crea- 
ture possessed when this was taken off, and she lay in m^ 
mother’s lap, were three silver coins, fastened in her dark 


94 : 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


hair. My father told us that the Turks had killed the child’s 
parents; and he told so much about them, that I dreamed 
of the Turks all night. He himself had been wounded, 
and my mother bound up his arm. The wound was deep, 
and tiie thick sheepskin was stiff with frozen blood. The 
little maiden was to be my sister. How radiantly beauti 
fill she looked I Even my mother’s eyes were not more 
gentle than hers. Anastasia, as she was called, was to, be 
my sister, because her father had been united to mine by 
the old custom which we still kept. They had sworn 
brotherhood in their youth, and chosen the most beautiful 
and virtuous girl in the neighborhood to consecrate their 
bond of friendship. I often heard of the strange good cus- 
tom. 

So now the little girl was my sister. She sat in my 
lap, and I brought her flowers and the feathers of the 
mountain birds : we drank together of the waters of Par- 
nassus, and dwelt together for many a year under the laurel 
roof of the hut, while my mother sang winter after winter 
of the stag who wept red tears. But as yet I did not un- 
derstand that it was my own countrj^men whose many sor- 
rows .were mirrored in those tears. 

One day there came three Frankish men. Their dress 
was different from ours. They had tents and beds with 
them on their horses, and more than twenty Turks, all 
armed with 'swords and muskets, accompanied them; foi 
they were friends of the pacha, and had letters from him 
commanding an escort for them. They only came to see 
our mountains, to ascend Parnassus amid the snow and the 
clouds, and to look at the strange black steep rock near 
our hut. They could not find room in it, nor could they 
endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling and found 
its way out at the low door; therefore they pitched their 


THE BOND OF FlilENDSHIP. 


95 


tents on the small space outside our dwelling, roasted 
lambs and birds, and poured out strong sweet wine, of 
which the Turks were not allowed to partake. 

When they departed, I accompanied them for some dis- 
tance, carrying my little sister Anastasia, wrapped in a 
goatskin, on my back. One of the Frankish gentlemen 
made me stand in front of a rock, and drew me, and her 
too, as wo stood there, so that we looked like one creature. 
I never thought of it; but Anastasia and I were really one. 
She was always sitting in my lap or riding in the goatskin 
at my back; and when I dreamed, she appeared in my 
dieams. 

Two nights afterwards, other men, armed with knives 
and muskets, came into our tent. They were Albanians, 
brave men, my mother told me. They only stayed a short 
time. My sister Anastasia sat on the knee of one of them, 
and when they were gone she had not three, but only two 
silver coins in her hair. They wrapped tobacco in strips of 
paper and smoked it. I remember they were undecided as 
to the road they were to take. 

But they had to make a choice. They went, and my father 
went with them. Soon afterwards we heard the sound of 
firing. The noise was renewed, and soldiers rushed into 
our hut, and took my mother, and myself, and my s^-^ter 
Anastasia prisoners. They declared that the robbers bad 
been entertained by us, and that my father had acted as the 
robbers’ guide, and therefore we must go with them. 
Presently I saw the corpses of the robbers brought in; I 
saw my father’s corpse too. I cried and cried till I fell 
asleep. When I awoke, we were in prison, but the room 
was not worse than ours in our own house. They gave me 
onions to eat, and musty wine poured from a tarry cask, 
but we had no better fare at home. 


96 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


Hc»w long' we were kept prisoners I do not know; but 
mnny days and nights went by. When we were set free it 
was the time of the holy Easter feast. I carried Anastasia 
on my back, for my mother was ill, and could only move 
slowly, and it was a long way till we came down to the 
sea, to the Gulf of Lepanto. We went into a church that 
gleamed with pictures painted on a golden ground. They 
were pictures of angels, and very beautiful; but it seemed 
to me that our little Anastasia was just as beautiful. In 
the middle of the floor stood a coffin filled with roses. 
“ The Lord Christ is pictured there in the form of a beauti- 
ful ivse,” said my mother; and the priest announced, “ Christ 
is risen !” All the people kissed each other : each one had 
a burning taper in his hand, and I received one myself, and 
so did little Anastasia. The bagpipes sounded, men danced 
hana in hand from the church, and outside the women were 
roasting the Easter lamb. We were invited to partake, and 
I sat by the fire; a boy, older than myself, put his arms 
round my neck, kissed me, and said, “Christ'is risen !” and 
thus it was that for the first time I met Aphtanides. 

My mother could make fishermen's nets, for which there 
was a good demand here in the bay, and we lived a long 
time by the side of the sea, the beautiful sea, that tasted 
like tears, and in its colors reminded me of tlie song of 
the stag that wept — for sometimes its waters were red, 
and sometimes green or blue. 

.\phtanides knew how to manage our boat, and I often 
sat in it, with my little Anastasia, while it glided on through 
the water, swift as a bird flying through the air. Then, 
wlum the sun sank down, the mountains were tinted with a 
deeper and deeper blue; one range seemed to rise behind 
the other, and behind them all stood Parnassus, with its 
snow-crowned summit. The mountain-top gleamed in the 


THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP. 


97 


evening rays like glowing iron, and it seemed as though 
the light came from within it; for long after the sun had 
set, the mountain still shone through the clear blue air. 
The white water-birds touched the surface of the sea with 
tlieir wings, and all here was as calm and quiet as among 
the black rocks at Delphi. I lay on my back in the boat, 
Anastasia leaned against me, and the stars above us shone 
brighter than the lamps in our church. They were the 
same stars, and they stood exactly in the same positions 
above me, as when I had sat in front of our hut at Delphi; 
and at last I almost fancied I was there. Suddenly there 
was a splash in the water, and the boat rocked violently. 
I cried out in horror, for Anastasia had fallen into the 
water : but in a moment Aphtanides had sprung in after 
her, and was holding her up to me I We dried her clothes 
as well as we could, remaining on the water till they were 
dry; for no one was to know what a fright we had had for 
our little adopted sister, in whose life Aphtanides now had 
a part. 

The summer came. The sun burned so hot that the leaves 
turned yellow on the trees. I thought of our cool moun- 
tains, and of the fresh water they contained; my mother, 
too, longed for them ; and one evening we wandered home. 
What peace, what silence !. We walked on through the 
thick thyme, still fragrant though the sun had scorched its 
leaves. Not a single herdsman did we meet, not one solitary 
hut did we pass. Every thing was quiet and deserted; but 
a shooting star announced that in heaven there was yet 
life. I know not if the clear blue air gleamed with light of 
its own, or if the radiance came from the stars; but we 
could see the outlines of the mountains quite plainly. My 
mother lighted a fire, roasted some roots she had brought 
with her, and I and my little sister slept among the thyme, 
a 5 


98 


ANDKUSEN S TALES. 


without fear of the ugly Suiidi’uki,* from whose tlu’oui fii'6 
spurts fortli, or of tlie wolf and jackal; for iny inotlH'.r sat 
beside us, and 1 considered lier oresence protection enough 
for us 

We reached our old home; but the hut was a heap of 
ruins, and a new one had to be built. A few women lent 
my mother their aid, and in a few days walls were raised, 
and covered with a new roof of olive branches. My mother 
made many bottle-cases of bark and skins; I kept the 
little flock of the priests, I and Anastasia and the little tor- 
toises were my playmates. 

Once we had a visit from our beloved Aphtanides, who 
said he had greatly longed to see us, and who stayed with 
us two whole happy days. 

A month afterwards he came again, and told us that he 
was going in a ship to Corfu and Patras, but must bid us 
good-by first ; and he had brought a large fish for our 
mother. He had a great deal to tell, not only of the fisher- 
men yonder in the Grulf of Lepanto, but also of kings and 
heroes, who had once possessed Greece, just as the Turks 
possess it now. 

I have seen a bud on a rose-bush gradually unfold in days 
and weeks, till it became a rose, and hung there in its 
beauty, before I was aware how large and beautiful and red 
it had become ; and the same thing I now saw in Anas- 
tasia. She was now a beautiful, grown girl, and I had 
become a stout stripling. The wolf-skin that covered my 


• According to the Greek superstition, this is a monster generated from 
the unopened entrails of slaughtered sheep, which are thrown away in th« 
fields. 

t A peasant who can read often becomes a priest ; he is then celled 
“ very holy Sir,” and the lower orders kiss the ground on which he has 

stepped. 


THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP. 


99 


010 therms and Anastasia’s bed, I had myself taken fron. 
wolves that had fallen beneath my shots. 

Years had gone by, when one evening Aphtanides came 
in, slender as a reed, strong and brown. He kissed us all, 
and had much to tell of the fortifications of Malta, of the 
great ocean, and of the marvellous sepulchres of Egypt. It 
sounded strange as a legend of the priests, and I looked up 
to him with a kind of veneration. 

“ How much you know I” I exclaimed ; “ what wonders 
you can tell of I” 

“But you have told me the finest thing, after all,” he 
replied. “You told me of a thing that has never been out 
of my thoughts — of the good old custom of the bond of 
friendship, a custom I should like to follow. Brother, let 
you and I go to church, as your father and Anastasia’s went 
before us : your sister Anastasia is the most beautiful and 
most innocent of girls ; she shall consecrate us I No people 
has such grand old customs as we Greeks.” 

Anastasia blushed like a young rose, and my mother 
kissed Aphtanides. 

A couple of miles from our house thtre, where loose earth 
lies on the hill, and a few scattered trees give a shelter, 
stood the little church ; a silver lamp hung in front of the 
altar. 

I had put on my best clothes : the white fustanella fell 
m rich folds around my hips, the red jacket fitted tight and 
close, the tassel on my fez cap was silver, and in my girdle 
gleamed a knife and my pistols. Aphtanides was clad in 
the blue garb worn by the Greek sailors ; on his chest hung 
a silver plate with the figure of the Virgin Mary ; his scarf 
was as costly as those worn by rich lords. Every one could 
see that avc were about to go through a solemn ceremony. 
Wc stepped into the little simple church, where the evening 


100 


Andersen’s tales. 


Bunlight, streaming through the door, gleamed on the bum 
ing lamp and the pictures on golden ground. We knel 
down on the altar steps, and Anastasia came before us. A 
long white garment hung loose over her graceful form ; on 
her white neck and bosom hung a chain, covered with old 
and new coins, forming a kind of collar. Her black hair 
•was fastened in a knot, and confined by a iiead-drcss 
made of silver and gold coins that had been found in an 
old temple. No Greek girl had more beautiful ornaments 
than she. Her countenance glowed, and her eyes were like 
two stars. 

We all three prayed silently ; and^ then she said to us, 
Will you be friends in life and in death ?” “ Yes,” we 

replied. “ Will you, whatever may happen, remember this: 
my brother is part of myself. My secret is his, my hap- 
piness is his. Self-sacrifice, patience — every thing- in me 
belongs to him as to me ?” And we again answered, 
“ Yes.” 

Then she joined our hands and kissed us on the fore- 
head, and we again prayed silently. Then the priest came 
through the door near the altar, and blessed us all three ; 
and a song, sung by the other holy men, sounded from be- 
hind the altar-screen, and the bond of eternal friendship was 
concluded. When we rose, I saw my mother standing by 
the church door weeping heartily. 

“ How cheerful it was now, in our little hut, and by the 
springs of Delphi 1 On the evening before his departure, 
Aphtanides sat thoughtful with me on the declivity of a 
mountain ; his arm was flung round my waist, and mine 
was round his neck : we spoke of the sorrows of Greece, 
and of the men whom the country could trust. Every 
thought of our souls lay clear before each of us, and I seized 
his hand. 


THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP. 101 

“ One thing then must know, one thing that till now has 
been a secret between myself and Heaven. My whole soul 
is filled with love I with a love stronger than the love 1 
bear to my mother and to thee !” 

‘‘And whom do you love?” asked Aphtanides, and liis 
face and neck grew red as fire. 

“ I love Anastasia,” I replied — and his hand trembled in 
mine, and he became pale as a corpse. I saw it ; I under- 
stood the cause ; and I believe my hand trembled. I bent 
towards him, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “ I have 
never spoken of it to her, and perhaps she does not love me. 
Brother, think of this ; I have seen her daily ; she has 
grown up beside me, and has become a part of my soul !” 

“ And she shall be thine 1” he exclaimed, “ thine I I may 
not deceive thee, nor will I do so. I also love her ; but 
to-morrow I depart. In a year we shall see each other once 
more, and then you will be married, will you not ? I have 
a little gold of my own : it shall be thine. Thou must, thou 
shalt take it.” 

And we wandered home silently across the mountains. 
It was late in the evening when we stood at my mother’s 
door. 

Anastasia held the lamp upwards as we entered ; my 
mother was not there. She gazed at Aphtanides with a 
beautifully mournful gaze. “ To-morrow you are going 
from us,” she said : “ I am very sorry for it.” 

“ Sorry I” he repeated, and in his voice there seemed a 
trouble as great as the grief I myself felt. I could not 
speak, but he seized her hand and said, “ Our brother 
yonder loves you, and he is dear to you, is he not ? His 
very silence is proof of his affection.” 

Anastasia trembled and burst into tears. Then I saw no 
one but her, thought of none but her, and threw my arms 


102 


Andersen’s tales. 


round her, and said, “ I love thee I” She pressed her lips 
to mine, and flung her arms around my neck ; but the lamp 
had fallen to the ground, and all was dark around us — dark 
as in the heart of poor Aphtanides. 

Before daybreak he rose, kissed us all, said farewell, and 
went away. He had given all his money to ray mother for 
us. Anastasia was my betrothed, and in a few days after- 
wards she became my wife. 


JACK THE DULLAED. 

AN OLD STORY TOLD ANEW. 

Far in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, 
and in it lived an old proprietor, who had two sons, which 
two young men thought themselves too clever by half. 
They wanted to go out and woo the king^s daughter ; for 
the maiden in question had publicly announced that she 
would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange 
his words best. 

So these two geniuses prepared themselves a full week 
for the wooing — this was the longest time that could be 
granted them ; but it was enough, for they had had much 
preparatory information, and everybody knows how useful 
that is. One of them knew the whole Latin dictionary 
by heart, and three whole years of the daily paper of the 
little town into the bargain ; and so well, indeed, that he 
could repeat it all either backwards or forwards, just as 
he chose. The other was deeply read in the corporation 
laws, and knew by heart what every corporation ought to 


JACK THE DULLARD. 


103 


know ; and accordingly he thought he could talk of affairs 
of state, and put his spoke in the wheel in Hie council. And 
he knew one thing more : he could embroider braces with 
roses and other flowers, and with arabesques, for he was a 
tasty, light-fingered fellow. 

“I shall win the princess I” So cried both of them. 
Therefore their old papa gave to each a handsome horse. 
The youth who knew the dictionary and newspaper by heart 
had a black horse, and he who knew all about the corpora- 
tion laws received a milk-white steed. Then they rubbed 
the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that they might 
become very smooth and glib. All the servants stood below 
in the courtyard, and looked on while they mounted their 
horses ; and just by chance the third son came up. For 
the proprietor had really three sons, though nobody counted 
the third with his brothers, because he was not so learned 
as they, and indeed he was generally known as “ Jack the 
Dullard.” 

“ Hallo I” said J ack the Dullard, “ where are you going ? 
I declare you have put on your Sunday clothes I” 

“ We’re going to the king’s court, as suitors to the king’s 
daughter. Don’t you know the announcement that has 
been made all through the country ?” And they told him 
all about it. 

“My word I I’ll be in it too !” cried Jack the Dullard ; 
and his two brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode 
away. 

“Father dear,” said Jack, “I must have a horse too. I 
I do feel so desperately inclined to marry I If she accepts 
me, she accepts me ; and if she wont have me. I’ll have 
her ; but she shall be mine !” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense,” replied the old gentleman. “ You 
shall have no horse from me. You don’t know how to speak 


104 


Andersen’s tales. 


•-you can’t arrange your words. Your brothers are very, 
very different fellows from you.” 

“ Well,” quoth Jack the Dullard, “ if I can’t have ahorse, 
I’ll take the billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry 
me very well I” 

And so said, so done. He mounted the billy-goat, pressed 
his heels into its sides, and galloped down the high street 
like a hurricane. 

“ Hei, houp ! that was a ride I Here I come I” shouted 
Jack the Dullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and 
wide. 

But his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. They 
spoke not a word, for they were thinking about all the fine 
extempore speeches they would have to bring out, and all 
these had to be cleverly prepared beforehand. 

“Hallo!” shouted Jack the Dullard. “Here am II 
Look what I have found on the high-road.” And he showed 
them what it was ; and it was a dead crow. 

“ Dullard !” exclaimed the brothers, “ what are you going 
to do with that ?” 

“ With the crow ? why, I am going to give it to the 
princess.” 

“ Yes, do so,” said they ; and they laughed and rode on. 

“Hallo, here I am again 1 Just see what I have found 
now : you don’t find that on the high-road every day 1” 

And the brothers turned round to see what he could have 
found now. 

“ Dullard 1” they cried, “ that is only an old wooden shoe, 
and the upper part is missing into the bargain; are you 
going to give that also to the princess ?” 

“ Most certainly I shall,” replied Jack the Dullard; and 
again the brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got 
far in advance of him; but — 


JACK THE DULLARD. 


105 


Hallo — ^liop rara and there was Jack the Dullard 
again. It is getting better,” he cried. “ Hurrah I it is 
quite famous.” ’ 

“ Wliy, what have you found this time ?” inquired the 
brothers. 

“Oh,” said Jack the Dullard, “I can hard!}’ tell you 
How glad the princess will be !” 

“ Bah !” said tlie brothers; “ that is nothing but clay out 
of the ditch.” 

“Yes, certainly it is,” said Jack the Dullmd; “and clay 
of the finest sort. See, it is so wet, it runs tli rough one’s 
fingers.” And he filled his pocket with the clay. 

But his brothers galloped on till the sparks flew, and 
consequently they arrived a full hour earlier at the town- 
gate than could Jack. Now at the gate each suitor was 
provided with a number, and all were placed in rows im- 
mediately on their arrival, six in each row, and so closely 
packed together that they could not move their arras ; and 
that was a prudent arrangement, for they would certainly 
have come to blows, had they been able, merely because 
one of them stood before the other. 

All the inhabitants of the country round about stood in 
great crowds around the castle, almost under the very win- 
dows, to see the princess receive the suitors; and as each 
stepped into the hall, his power of speech seemed to desert 
him, like the light of a candle that is blown out. Then the 
princess would say, “ He is of no use I away with him out 
of the hall !” 

At last the turn came for that brother v^ho knew the 
dictionary by heart; but he did not know it now; he had 
absolutely forgotten it altogether; and the boards seemed 
to re-echo with his footsteps, and the ceiling of the hall was 
made of looking-glass, so that he saw himself standing on 


106 


Andersen’s tales. 


his head; and at the window stood three clerks and a head 
clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single 
word that was uttered, so that it might he printed in the 
newspapers, and sold for a penny at the street corners. It 
was a terrible ordeal, and they had moreover made such a 
fire in the stove, that the room seemed quite red-hot. 

It is dreadfully hot here I” observed the first brother. 

“ Yes,” replied the princess, “ my father is going to roast 
young pullets to-day.” 

“Baa.!” there he stood like a baa-lamb. He had not 
been prepared for a speech of this kind; and had not a 
word to say, though he intended to say something witty. 
“Baa 1” 

“He is of no use I” said the princess. “Away with 
him 1” 

And he was obliged to go accordingly. And now the 
second brother came in. 

“ It is terribly warm here I” he observed. 

“ Yes, we’re roasting pullets to-day,” replied the princess. 

“ What — what were you — were you pleased to ob- ” 

stammered he — and all the clerks wrote down, “ pleased to 
ob 

“ He is of no use 1” said the princess. “Away with him I” 

Now came the turn of Jack the Dullard. He rode into 
the hall on his goat. 

“ Well, it’s most abominably hot here.” 

“ Yes, because I’m roasting young pullets,” replied the 
princess. 

“Ah, that’s lucky 1” exclaimed Jack the Dullard, “for I 
suppose you’ll let me roast my crow at the same time ?” 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” said the princess. “ But 
have you any thing you can roast it in ? for I have neither 
pot nor pan.” 


JACK THE DULLARD. 


107 


‘‘Certainly I have 1” said Jack. “Here’s a cooking 
atensil with a tin handle.” And he brought out the old 
wooden shoe, and put the crow into it. 

“ Well, that is a famous dish I” said the princess. “But 
what shall we do for sauce ?” 

“ Oh, I have that in my pocket,” said Jack : “I have so 
much of it, that I can afford to throw some away;” and he 
poured some of the clay out of his pocket. 

“ I like that 1” said the princess. “ You can give an 
answer, and you have something to say for yourself, and so 
you shall be my husband. But are you aware that every 
word we speak is being taken down, and will be published 
in the paper to-morrow ? Look yonder, and you will see in 
every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old 
head clerk is the worst of all, for he can^t understand any 
thing.” But she only said this to frighten Jack the Dullaid: 
and the clerks gave a great crow of delight, and each one 
spurted a blot out of his pen on to the floor. 

“Oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?” said Jack; 
“ then I will give the best I have to the head clerk.” And 
he turned out his pockets, and flung the wet clay full in the 
head clerk’s face. 

“ That was very cleverly done,” observed the princess. 
“I could not have done that; but I shall learn in time.” 

And accordingly Jack the Dullard was made a king, and 
received a crown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. And 
this report we have wet from the press of the head clerk 
and the corporation of printers — ^but they are not to be 
depended upon in the least I 


108 


Andersen’s tales. 


SOMETHING. 

I WANT to be something I” said the eldest of five 
rothers. “ I want to do something in the world. I don't 
care how humble my position may be in society, if I only 
effect some good, for that will really be something. I'll 
make bricks, for they are quite indispensable things, and 
then I shall truly have done something." 

“But that something will not be enough I'’ quoth the 
second brother. “What you intend doing is just as much 
as nothing at all. It is journeyman's work, and can be 
done b}^ a machine. No, I would rather be a bricklayer at 
once, for that is something real; and that's what I will be. 
That brings rank : as a bricklayer, one belongs to a guild, 
and is a citizen, and has one's own flag and one's own house 
of call. Yes, and if all goes well, I will keep journeymen. 
I shall become a master bricklayer, and my wife will be a 
master's wife — that is what I call something.” 

“ That's nothing at all I" said the third. “ That is beyond 
the pale of the guild, and there are many of those in a 
town that stand far above the mere master artisan. You 
may be an honest man; but as a ‘master' you will after all 
only belong to those who are ranked among common men. 
1 know something better than that. I will be an architect, 
and will thus enter into the territory of art and speculation. 
I shall be reckoned among those who stand high in point of 
intellect. I shall certainly have to serve up from the pick- 
axe, so to speak; so I must begin as a carpenter's appren- 
tice, and must go about as an assistant, in a cap, though I 
am accustomed to wear a silk hat. I shall have to fetch 
beer and spirits for the common journeymen, and they will 


SOMETHING. 


109 


call iTio ‘ thou/ and that is insulting I But I shall imagine 
to myself that the whole thing is only acting, and a kind 
of masquerade. To-morrow — that is to say, when I have 
served ray time — I shall go ray own way, and the others 
will be nothing to me. I shall go to ihe academy, and get 
instructions in drawing, and shall be called an architect. 
ThaVs something ! I may get to be called ‘ sir,’ and even 
‘worshipful sir,’ or even get a handle at the front or at the 
back of my name, and shall go on building and building, 
just as those before me have built. That will always be a 
thing to remember, and that’s what I call something !” 

“ But I don’t care at all for that something,” said the 
fourth. “ I won’t sail in the wake of others, and be a 
copyist. I will be a genius; and will stand up greater than 
all the rest of you together. I shall be the creator of a 
new style, and will give the plan of a building suitable to 
the climate and the material of the country, for the nation- 
ality of the people, for the development of the age — and an 
additional story for my own genius.” 

“ But supposing the climate and the material are bad,” 
said the fifth, “ that would be a disastrous circumstance, 
for these two exert a great influence I Nationality, more- 
over, may expand itself until it becomes affectation, and 
the development of the century may run wild with your 
work, as youth often runs wild. I quite realize the fact 
that none of you will be any thing real, however much you 
may believe in yourselves. But, do what you like, I will 
not resemble you : I shall keep on the outside of things, 
and criticise whatever you produce. To every work there 
is attached something that is not right — something that has 
gone wrong; and I will ferret that out and find fault with 
it; and that will be doing something 

And he kept his word; and everybody said concerning 


110 


Andersen’s tales. 


this fifth brother, “There is certainly something’ in him : tie 
has a good head; but he does nothing,” And by that very 
means they thought something of him ! 

Now, you see this is only a little story; but it will ncvei 
end so long as the world lasts. 

But what became of the five brothers ? Why this is 
nothing, and not something. 

Listen, it is a capital story. 

The eldest brother, he who manufactured bricks, soon be- 
came aware of the fact that every brick, however small it 
might be, produced for him a little coin, though this coin 
was only copper; and many copper pennies laid one upon 
the other can be changed into a shining dollar; and where- 
ever one knocks with such a dollar in one’s hand, whether 
at the baker’s, or the butcher’s, or the tailor’s — wherever it 
may be, the door flies open, and the visitor is welcomed, and 
gets Avhat he wants. You see that is what comes of bricks. 
Some of those belonging to the eldest brother certainly 
crumbled away, or broke in two, but there was a use even 
for these. 

On the high rampart, the wall that kept out the sea, 
Margaret, the poor woman, wished to build herself a little 
house. All the faulty bricks were given to her, and a few 
perfect ones into the bargain, for the eldest brother was a 
good-natured man, though he certainly did not achieve any 
thing beyond the manufacture of bricks. The poor woman 
put together the house for herself. It was little and nar- 
row, and the single window was quite crooked. The door 
was too low, and the thatched roof might have shown bet- 
ter workmanship. But after all, it was a shelter; and from 
the little house you could look far across the sea, whose 
waves broke vainly against the protecting rampart on 
which it was built. The salt billows spurted their spray 


SOMETHING. 


Ill 


over the whole house, which was still standing when he 
who had given the bricks for its erection had long been 
dead and buried. 

The second brother knew better how to build a wall, for 
he had served an apprenticeship to it. When he had served 
his time and passed his examination, he packed his knap- 
sack and sang the journejmian’s song : 

“ While I am young I’ll wander, from place to place I’ll roam. 

And everywhere build houses, until I come back home ! 

And youth will give me courage, and my true love won’t forget: 
Hurrah then for a workman’s life I I’ll be a master yet I” 


And he carried his idea into effect. When he had come 
horn e and become a master, he built one house after another 
in the town. He built a whole street; and when the street 
was finished and became an ornament to the place, the 
houses built a house for him in return, that was to be his 
own. But how can houses build a house ? If you ask 
them they will not answer you, but people will understand 
what is meant by the expression, and say, “ Certainly, it 
was the street that built his house for him.” It was little, 
and the floor was covered with clay; but when he danced 
with his bride upon this clay floor, it seemed to become 
polished oak; and from every stone in the wall sprung 
forth a flower, and the room was gay, as if with costliest 
paper-hanger^s work. It was a pretty house, and in it lived 
a happy pair. The flag of the guild fluttered before the 
house, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted hurrah I 
Yes, he certainly was something! And at last he died; and 
(hat was something too. 

Now came the architect, the third brother, who had been 
at first a carpenter’s apprentice, had worn a cap, and 
served is an errand-boy, lut had afterwards gone to the 


112 


Andersen’s tales. 


academy, and risen to become an architect, and to be called 
“ honored sir.” Yes, if the houses of the street had built 
a house for the brother who had become a bricklayer, the 
street now received its name from the architect, and the 
handsomest house in it became his property. That was 
something, and he was something; and he had a long title 
before and after his name. His children were called genteel 
children, and when he died his widow was “a widow of 
rank,” and that is something ! — and his name always re- 
mained at the corner of the street, and lived on in the mouth 
of every one as the street’s name — and that was something I 

Now came the genius of the family, the fourth brother, 
who wanted to invent something new and original, and an 
additional story on the top of it for himself. But the top 
story tumbled down, and he came tumbling down with it, 
and broke his neck. Nevertheless he had a splendid fu- 
neral, with guild flags and music; poems in the papers, and 
flowers strewn on the paving-stones in the street; and three 
funeral orations were held over him, each one longer than 
the last, which would have rejoiced him greatly, for he al- 
ways liked it -when people talked about him; a monument 
also .was erected over his grave. It was only one story 
high, but still it was something. 

Now he was dead, like the other three brothers; but the 
last, the one who was a critic, outlived them all; and that 
was quite right, for by this means he got the last word, and 
it was of great importance to him to have the last word 
The people always said he had a good head of his own. At 
1 Ast his hour came, and he died, and came to the gates of 
Paradise. There souls always enter two and two, and he 
came up with another soul that wanted to get into Paradise 
too; and who should this be but old dame Margaret, from 
the house upon the sea-wall. 


SOMETHING. 


113 


“ 1 suppose this is done for the sake of contrast, that 1 
and this wretched soul should arrive here at exactly the 
same time I” said the critic. “ Pray, who are you, my good 
woman ?” he asked. “ Do you want to get in here too ?” 

And the old woman curtsied as well as she could: she 
thought it must be St. Peter himself talking to her. 

“ Pm a poor old woman of a very humble family,” she re- 
plied. “ Pm old Margaret that lived in the house on the 
sea-wall.” 

“Well, and what have you done? what have you ac- 
complished down there ?” 

“ I have really accomplished nothing at all in the world : 
nothing that I can plead to have the doors here opened to 
me. It would be a real mercy to allow me to slip in through 
the gate.” 

“ In what manner did you leave the world ?” asked he, 
just for the sake of saying something; for it was weari- 
some work standing there and saying nothing. 

“ Why, I really don’t know how I left it. I was sick and 
miserable during my last years, and could not well bear 
creeping out of bed, and going out suddenly into the frost 
and cold. It was a hard winter, but I have got out of it all 
now. For a few days the weather was quite calm, but very 
cold, as your honor must very well know. The sea was 
covered with ice as far as one could look. All the people 
from the town walked out upon the ice, and I think they 
said there was a dance there, and skating. There was 
beautiful music and a great feast there too; the sound came 
into my poor little room, where I lay ill. And it was to- 
wards the evening; the moon had risen beautifully, but it 
was not yet in its full splendor; I looked from my bed out 
over the wide sea, and far off, just where the sea and sky 
join, a strange white cloud came up. I lay looking at the 


lU 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


cloud, and I saw a little black spot in the middle of it, that 
grew larger and larger; and now I knew whrat it meant, 
for I am old and experienced, though this token is not often 
seen. I knew it, and a shuddering came upon me. Twice 
in my life I have seen the same thing; and 1 knew there 
would be an awful tempest, and a spring flood, which would 
overwhelm the poor people who were now drinking and 
dancing and rejoicing — young and old, the whole city had 
issued forth : who was to warn them, if no one saw what 
was coming yonder, or knew, as I did, what it meant ? I 
was dreadfully alarmed, and felt more lively than I had 
done for a long time. I crept out of bed, and got to the 
window, but could not crawl further, I was so exhausted. 
But I managed to open the window. I saw the people out- 
side running and jumping about on the ice; I could see the 
beautiful flags that waved in the wind. I heard the boys 
shouting ‘ hurrah 1^ and the servant men and maids singing. 
There were all kinds of merriment going on. But the white 
cloud with the black spot I I cried out as loud as I could, 
but no one heard me ; I was too far from the people. Soon 
the storm would burst, and the ice would break, and all 
who were upon it would be lost without remedy. They 
could not hear me, and I could not come out to them. Oh I 
if I could only bring them ashore I Then kind Heaven in- 
spired me with the thought of setting fire to my bed, and 
rather to let the house burn down, than that all those 
people should perish so miserably. I succeeded in lighting 
tip a beacon for them. The red flame blazed up on high, and 
\ escaped out of the door, but fell down exhausted on the 
threshold, and could get no further. The flames rushed 
out towards me, flickered through the window, and rose 
high above the roof. All the people on the ice yonder be- 
held it, and ran as fast as they could, to give aid to a poor 


SOMETHING. 


llh 

old woman who, they thought, was being burned to death. 
Not one renmined behind. I heard tliem coming; but I also 
became aware of a rushing sound in the air; I heard a 
rumbling like the sound of heavy artillery; the spring-flood 
was lifting the covering of ice, which presently cracked aiid 
burst into a thousand fragments. But the people succeeded 
in reaching the sea-wall — I saved them all 1 But I fancy I 
could not bear the cold and the fright, and so I came up 
here to the gates of Paradise. I am told they are opened 
to poor creatures like me — and now I have no house left 
down upon the rampart : not that I think this will give me 
admission here.” 

Then the gates of heaven were opened, and the angel 
led the old woman in. She left a straw behind her, a straw 
that had been in her bed when she set it on fire to save the 
lives of many ; and this straw had been changed into the 
purest gold — into gold that grew and grew, and spread out 
into beauteous leaves and flowers. 

“ I lOok, this is what the poor woman brought,” said the 
angel to the critic. What dost thou bring ? 1 know that 

thou hast accomplished nothing — thou hast not made so 
much as a single brick. Ah, if thou couldst only return, 
and effect at least so much as that I Probably the brick, 
when thou hast made it, would not be worth much ; but if 
it were made with good-will, it would at least be something. 
But thou canst not go back, and I can do nothing for 
thee 1” 

Then the poor soul, the old dame who had lived on the 
dyke, put in a petition for him. She said : 

“ His brother gave me the bricks and the pieces out of 
wliich I built up my house, and that was a great deal fur 
a poor woman like me. Cculd not all those bricks and 
pieces be counted as a single brick in his iavor ? Il was 


116 


Andersen's tales. 


an act of mercy. He wants it now : and is not this the 
very fountain of mercy 

Then the angel said : 

“Thy brother, whom thou hast regarded as the least 
among you all, he whose honest industry seemed to thee as 
the most humble, hath given thee this heavenly gift. Thou 
shalt not be turned away. It shall be vouchsafed to thee 
to stand here without the gate, and to reflect, and repent 
of thy life down yonder ; but thou shalt not be admitted 
until thou hast in real earnest accomplished something?' 

“ I could have said that in better words I” thought the 
critic, but he did not find fault aloud ; and for him, after 
all, that was “ something 1^^ 


UNDEE THE WILLOW-TEEE. 

The region round the little town of Kjoge is veiy bleak 
and bare. The town certainly lies by the seashore, which 
is always beautiful, but just there it might be more 
beautiful than it is : all around are flat fields, and it is a 
long way to the forest. But when one is very mucli at 
home in a place, one always finds something beautifuh and 
something that one longs for in the most charming spot in 
the world that is strange to us. We confess that, by tho 
utmost boundary of the little town, where some humble 
gardens skirt the streamlet that falls into the sea, it must 
be a very pretty place in summer ; and this was the opinion 
of the two children from neighboring houses, who were 
playing there, and forcing their way through the gooseberry 
bushes, to get to one another. In one of the gardens stood 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE, 


117 


au elder-tree, and in the other an old willow, and under the 
latter the children were especially verj’- fond of playing ; 
they were allowed to play there, though, indeed, the tree 
stood close beside the stream, and they might easily have 
fallen into the water. But the eye of God watches over 
the little ones ; if it did not, they would be badly off. And, 
moreover, they were very careful with respect to the water; 
in fact, the boy was so much afraid of it, that they could 
not lure him into the sea in summer, when the other chil- 
dren were splashing about in the waves. Accordingly, he 
was famously jeered and mocked at, and had to bear the 
jeering and mockery as best he could. But once Joanna, 
the neighbor’s little girl, dreamed she was sailing in a boat, 
and Knud waded out to join her till the water rose, first to 
his neck, and afterwards closed over his head, so that he 
disappeared altogether. From the time when little Knud 
heard of this dream, he would no longer bear the teazing of 
the other boys. He might go into the water now, he said, 
for Joanna had dreamed it. He certainly never carried the 
idea into practice, but the dream was his great guide for 
all that. 

Their parents, who were poor people, often took tea to- 
gether, and Knud and Joanna played in the gardens and on 
the high-road, where a row of willows had been planted 
beside the skirting ditch ; these trees, with their polled 
tops, certainly did not look beautiful, but they were not 
put there for ornament, but for use. The old willow-tree 
m the garden was mucn handsomer, and therefore children 
97ere fond of sitting- under it. In the town itself there 
was a great market-place, and at the time of the fair this 
place was covered with whole streets of tents and booths, 
containing silk ribbons, boots, and every thing that a per- 
son could wish for. There was groat crowding, and gen- 


118 


Andersen’s tales. 


erally the weather was rainy ; hut it did not destroy the 
fragrance of the honey-cakes and the gingerbread, of which 
there was a booth quite full ; and the best of it was, that 
the man who kept this booth came every year to lodge 
during the fair-time in the dwelling of little Knud’s father. 
Consequently there came a present of a bit of gingerbread 
every now and then, and of course Joanna received hei 
share of the gift. But, perhaps, the most charming thing of 
all was that the gingerbread dealer knew all sorts of tales, 
and could even relate histories about his own gingerbread 
cakes ; and one evening, in particular, he told a story about 
them which made such a deep impression on the children 
that they never forgot it ; and for that reason it is perhaps 
advisable that we should hear it too, more especially as the 
story is not long. 

“On the shop-board,” he said, “lay two gingerbread cakes, 
one in the shape of a man with a hat, the other of a maiden 
without a bonnet ; both their faces were on the side that 
was uppermost, for they were to be looked at on that side, 
and not on the other ; and, indeed, most people have a 
favorable side from which they should be viewed. On the 
left side the man wore a bitter almond — that was his heart; 
but the maiden, on the other hand, was honey-cake all over. 
They were placed as samples on the shop-board, and remain- 
ing there a long time, at last they fell in love with . one 
another ; but neither told the other, as they should have 
done if they had expected any thing to come of it. 

“ ‘ He is a man, and therefore he must speak first,’ she 
thought; but she felt quite contented, for she knew her love 
was returned. 

“His thoughts were far more extravagant, as is always 
the case with a man. He dreamed that he was a real street 
boy, that he had four pennies of his own, and that he pur 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


119 


chased the maiden, and ate her up. So they lay on the 
shop-board for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and hard, 
but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle 
and maidenly. 

“ ‘It is enough for me that I have lived on the same table 
with him,’ she said, and crack I she broke in two. 

“ ‘ If she had only known my love, she would have kept 
together a little longer,’ he thought. 

“ And that is the story, and here they are both of them,” 
said the baker in conclusion. “They are remarkable for 
their curious history, and for their silent love, which never 
came to any thing. And there they are for you I” and, so 
saying, he gave Joanna the man who was yet entire, and 
Knud got the broken maiden ; but the children had been 
so much impressed by the story that they could not sum- 
mon courage to eat the lovers up. 

On the following day they went out with them to the 
churchyard, and sat down by the church wall, which is 
covered, winter and summer, with the most luxuriant ivy 
as with a rich carpet. Here they stood the two cake 
figures up in the sunshine among the green leaves, and 
told the story to a group of other children ; they told them 
of the silent love which led to nothing. It was called love 
because the story was so lovely, on that they all agreed. 
But when they turned again to look at the gingerbread 
pair, a big boy, out of mischief, had eaten up the broken 
maiden. The children cried about this, and afterwards— 
probably that the poor lover might not be left in the world 
lonely and desolate — they ate him up too ; but they never 
never forgot the story. 

The children were always together by the elder-tree and 
under the willow, and the little girl sang the most beauti- 
ful songs with a voice that was clear as a bell. Knud, on 


120 


Andersen’s tales. 


the other hand, had not a note of music in him, hut he 
knew the words of the song*, and that, at least, was some- 
thing’. The people of Kjoge, even to the rich wife of the 
fancy-shop keeper, stood still and listened when Joanna 
sang “ She has a very sweet voice, that little girl,” they 
said. 

Tliose were glorions days, they could not last forever. 
The neighbors were neighbors no longer. The little maiden’s 
mother was dead, and the father intended to marry again, 
in the capital, where he had been promised a living as a 
messenger, w'hich was to be a very lucrative office. And 
the neighbors separated regretfully, the children weeping 
heartily, but the parents promised that they should at least 
write to one another once a year. 

And Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker, for the 
big boy could not be allowed to run wild any longer; and, 
moreover, he was confirmed. 

Ah, how gladly on that day of celebration would he have 
been in Copenhagen with little Joanna I but he remained 
in Kjoge, and had never yet been to Copenhagen, though 
the little town is only five Danish miles distant from the 
capital; but far across the bay, when the sky was clear, 
Knud had seen the towers in the distance, and on the day 
of his confirmation he could distinctly see the golden cross 
( n the principal church glittering in the sun. 

Ah, how often his thoughts were with Joanna ! Did she 
think of him ? Yes. Towards Christmas there came a 
letter from her father to the parents of Knud, to say that 
they were getting on very well in Copenhagen, and 
especially might Joanna look forward to a brilliant future 
on the strength of her fine voice. She had been engaged 
in the theatre in which people sing, and was already earn- 
ing some money, out of which she sent her dear neighbors 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


121 


of Kjoge a dollar for the merry Christmas Eve. They were 
to drink her health, she had herself added in a postscript, 
and in the same postscript there stood further, “ A kind 
greeting to Knud.” 

The whole family wept : and' yet all this was very pleas- 
ant ; those were joyful tears that they shed. Knud’s 
thoughts had been occupied every day with Joanna; and 
now he knew that she also thought of him : and the nearer 
the time came when his apprenticeship would be over, the 
more clearly did it appear to him that he was very fond of 
Joanna, and that she must be his wife; and when he thought 
of this, a smile came upon his lips, and he drew the thread 
twice as fast as before, and pressed his foot hard against 
the knee-strap. He ran the awl far into his finger, but he 
did not care for that. He determined not to play the dumb 
lover, as the two gingerbread cakes had done : the story 
should teach him a lesson. 

And now he was a journeyman, and his knapsack was 
packed ready for his journey : at length, for the first time 
in bis life, ho was to go to Copenhagen, where a master was 
already waiting for him. How glad Joanna would be I 
She was now seventeen years old, and he nineteen. 

Already in Kjoge he had wanted to buy a gold ring for 
her; but he recollected that such things were to be had far 
better in Copenhagen. And now he took leave of his 
parents, and on a rainy day, late in the autumn, went forth 
on foot out of the town of his birth. The leaves were fall- 
ing down from the trees, and he arrived at his new master’s 
in the metropolis wet to the skin. Next Sunday he was to 
pay a visit to Joanna’s father. The new journeyman’s 
clothes were brought forth, and the new hat from Kjoge 
was put on, which became Knud very well, for till this 
time he had only worn a cap. And he found the house ho 


122 


andeksen’s tales. 


Bought, and mounted flight after flight of stairs until he be- 
came almost giddy. It was terrible to him to see how peo- 
ple lived piled up one over the other in the dreadful city. 

Every thing in the room had a prosperous look, and 
Joanna’s father received him very kindly. To the new wife 
he was a stranger, but she shook hands with him, and gave 
idm some coffee. 

“ Joanna will be glad to see you,” said the father : you 
have grown quite a nice young man. You shall see her 
presently. She is a girl who rejoices my heart, and, please 
God, she will rejoice it yet more. She has her own room 
now, and pays us rent for it.” And the father knocked 
quite politely at the door, as if he were a visitor, and then 
they went in. 

But how pretty every thing was in that room ! such an 
apartment was certainly not to be found in all Kjoge : the 
queen herself could not be more charmingly lodged. There 
were carpets, there were window curtains quite down to 
the floor, and around were flowers and pictures, and a mir- 
ror into which there was almost danger that visitors might 
step, for it was as large as a door; and there was even a 
velvet chair. 

Knud saw all this at a glance : and yet he saw nothing 
but Joanna. She was a grown maiden, quite different from 
what Knud had fancied her, and much more beautiful. In 
all Kjoge there was not a girl like her. How graceful she 
was, and with what an odd unfamiliar glance she looked at 
Knud I But that was only for a moment, and then she 
rushed towards him as if she would have kissed him. She 
did not really do so, but she came very near it. Yes, she 
was certainly rejoiced at the arrival of the friend of her 
youth ! The tears were actually in her eyes; and she had 
much to say, and many questions to put concerning all, from 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


123 


Kiitiii o pai'fMits down to the elder-tree and the willow, which 
she ca.i\ed Klder-mother and Willow-father, as if they had 
been human beings; and indeed they might pass as such, 
‘list as well as the gingerbread cakes; and of these she 
spoke too, and of their silent love, and how they had lain 
upon the shop-board and split in two — and then she laughed 
very heartily; but the blood mounted into Knud’s cheeks, 
and his heart beat thick and fast. No, she had not grown 
proud at all. And it was through her — he noticed it well 
— that hei parents invited him to stay the whole evening 
with them; and she poured out the tea and gave him a cup 
with her own hands; and afterwards she took a book and 
read aloud to them, and it seemed to Knud that what she 
read was all about himself and his love, for it matched so 
well with his thoughts; and then she sang a simple song, 
but through her singing it became like a history, and seemed 
to be the outpouring of her very heart. Yes, certainly she 
was fond of Knud. The tears coursed down his cheeks — 
he could not restrain them, nor could he speak a single 
word : he seemed to himself as if he were struck dumb; 
and yet she pressed his hand, and said : 

“ You have a good heart, Knud — remain always as you 
are now.” 

That was an evening of matchless delight to Knud; to 
sleep after it was impossible, and accordingly Knud did not 
sleep. 

At parting, Joanna’s father had said, “ Now, you won’t 
forget us altogether I Don’t let the whole winter go by 
without once coming to see us again;” and therefore he 
could very well go again the next Sunday, and resolved to 
do so. But every evening when working hours were over 
—and they worked by candlelight there — Knud went out 
through the town : he went into the street in which Joanna 


124 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


lived, and looked np at her window; it was almost always 
lit up, and one evening’ he could see the shadow of her face 
quite plainly on the curtain — and that was a grand evening 
for him. His master’s wife did not like his galivanting 
abroad every evening, as she expressed it; and she shook 
iiorhead; but the master only smiled. 

“ He is only a young fellow,” he said. 

But Knud thought to himself : “ On Sunday I shall see 
her, and I shall tell her how completely she reigns in my 
heart and soul, and that she must be my little wife. I know 
I am only a poor journeyman shoemaker, but I shall work 
and strive — yes, I shall tell her so. Nothing comes of silent 
love : I have learned that from the cakes.” 

And Sunday came round, and Knud sallied forth; but, 
unluckily, they were all invited out for that evening, and 
were obliged to tell him so. Joanna pressed his hand and 
said : 

“ Have you ever been to the theatre ? You must go once. 
I shall sing on Wednesday, and if you have time on that 
evening, I will send you a ticket; my father knows where 
your master lives.” 

How kind that was of her I And on Wednesday at noon 
he received a sealed paper, with no words written in it; 
but the ticket was there, and in the evening Knud went to 
the theatre for the first time in his life. And what did he 
see? He saw Joanna, and how charming and how beauti- 
ful she looked I She was certainly married to a stranger, 
but that was all in the play — something that was only make- 
believe, as Kund knew very well. If it had been real, he 
thought, she would never have had the heart to send him a 
ticket that he might go and see it. And all the people 
shouted and applauded, and Knud cried out “ hurrah !” 

Even the king smiled at Joanna, and seemed to delight in 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


125 


her. Ah, how small Knud felt I but then he loved her so 
dearly, and thought that she loved him too; but it was for 
the man to speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden 
in the child’s story had taught him : and there was a great 
deal for him in that story. 

Soon as Sunday came, he went again. He felt as if he 
were going into a church. Joanna was alone, and received 
him — it could not have happened more fortunately. “ It i? 
well that you are come,” she said. “ I had an idea of send- 
ing my father to you, and I felt a presentiment that you 
would be here this evening : for I must tell you that I start 
for France on Friday : I must go there, if I am to become 
eflScient.” 

It seemed to Knud as if the whole room were whirling 
round and round with him. He felt as if his heart would 
presently burst : no tear rose to his eyes, but still it was 
easy to see how sorrowful he was. 

“ You honest, faithful soul 1” she exclaimed ; and these 
words of hers loosened Knud’s tongue. He told her how 
constantly he loved her, and that she must become his wife; 
and as he said this, he saw Joanna change color and turn 
pale. She let his hand fall, and answered seriously and 
mournfully : 

“ Knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. I shall 
'always be a good sister to you, one in whom you may 
trust, but I shall never be any thing more.” And she drew 
her white hand over his hot forehead. “ Heaven gives us 
strength for much,” she said, ‘‘ if we only endeavor to do 
our best.” 

At that moment the stepmother came into the r( om ; and 
Joanna said quickly : 

“ Knud is quite inconsolable because I am going away 
Come, be a man,” she continued, and laid her hand upo^ his 


126 


Andersen’s tales. 


ehoulder ; and it seemed as if they had Ijeen talking of the 
journey, and nothing else. “ You are a child,” she added, 
but now you must be good and reasonable, as you used to 
be under the willow-tree, when we were both children.” 

But Knud felt as if the whole world had slid out of ita 
course, and his thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering 
to and fro in the wind. He stayed, though he could not 
remember if she had asked him to stay ; and she was kind 
and good, and poured out his tea for him, and sang to him 
It had not the old tone, and yet it was wonderfully boauiti 
ful, and made his heart feel ready to burst. And then they 
parted. Knud did not offer his hand, but she seized it, and 
said : 

“ Surely you will shake hands with your sister at parting, 
old play-fellow I” 

And she smiled through the tears that were rolling over 
her cheeks, and she repeated the w-^rd “ brother ” — and 
certainly there was good consolation in that — and thus they 
parted. 

She sailed to France, and Knud wandered about the 
muddy streets of Copenhagen. The other journeymen in 
the workshop asked him why he went about so gloomily, 
and told him he should go and amuse himself with them, 
for he was a young fellow. 

And they went v/ith him to the dancing-rooms. He saw 
many handsome girls there, but certainly not one like 
Joanna ; and here, where he thought to forget her, she 
stood more vividly than ever before the eyes of his souL 
“ Heaven gives us strength for a great deal, if we only try to 
do our best,” she had said ; and holy thoughts came into hia 
mind, and he folded his hands. The violins played, and the 
girls danced roiuid in a circle ; and he was quite startled, 
for it seemed to him as if he were in a place to which 


UNDEIl THE WILLOW TREE. 


12 ? 


ought not to have brought Joanna — for she was there with 
him, in his heart ; and accordingly he went out. He ran 
through the streets, and passed by the house where she 
had dwelt : it was dark there, dark everywhere, and emptj 
and lonely. The world went on its course, but Knud pur- 
sued his lonely way, unheedingly. 

The winter came and the streams were frozen. Every 
thing seemed to be preparing for a burial. But when 
spring returned, and the first steamer was to start, a long- 
ing seized him to go away, far, far into the world, but not 
to France. So he packed his knapsack, and wandered far 
into the Grennan land, from city to city, without rest or 
peace ; and it was not till he came to the glorious old city 
of Nuremberg that he could master his restless spirit; and 
in Nuremberg, therefore, he decided to remain. 

Nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it 
were cut out of an old picture-book. The streets seem to 
stretch themselves along just as they please. The houses 
do not like standing in regular ranks. Gables with little 
towers, arabesques, and pillars, start out over the path- 
way, and from the strange peaked roofs water-spouts, 
formed like dragons or great slim dogs, extend far over the 
street. 

Here in the market-place stood Knud, with his knapsack 
on his back. He stood by one of the old fountains that are 
adorned with splendid bronze figures, scriptural and histor- 
ical, rising up between the gushing jets of water. A 
pretty servant-maid was just filling her pails, and she gave 
Knud a refreshing draught ; and as her hand was full of 
roses, she gave him one of the flowers, and he accepted it 
as a good omen. 

From the neighboring church the strains of the organ 
were sounding ; they seemed to him as familiar as the tones 


128 


andeesen’s tales. 


of the oigan at home at Kjoge ; and he went into the great 
cathedral. The sunlight streamed in through the stained 
glass windows, between the two lofty, slender pillars. His 
spirit became prayerful, and peace returned to his soul. 

And he sought and found a good master in Nuremberg, 
with whom he stayed, and in whose house he learned the 
Gorman language. 

The old moat round the town has been converted into 
a number of little kitchen-gardens ; but the high walls 
are standing yet, with their heavy towers. The ropemaker 
twists his ropes on the gallery or walk built of wood, 
inside the town wall, where the elder-bushes grow out of 
tlie clefts and cracks, spreading their green twigs over the 
little low houses that stand below ; and in one of these 
dwelt the master with whom Knud worked ; and over the 
little garret-window at which Knud sat the elder waved its 
branches. 

Here he lived through a summer and a winter ; but when 
the spring came again he could bear it no longer. The 
elder was in blossom, and its fragrance reminded him so of 
ho^e, that he fancied himself back in the garden at Kjoge ; 
and therefore Knud went away frpm his master, and dwelt 
with another further in the town, over whose house no 
elder-bush grew. 

His workshop was quite close to one of the old stone 
bridges, by a low water-mill, that rushed and foamed always. 
Without, rolled the roaring stream, hemmed in by houses, 
y/hose old decayed gables looked ready to topple down int^ 
the water. No elder grew here — there was not even a 
flower-pot with its little green plant ; but just opposite the 
workshop stood a great old willow-tree, that seemed to cling 
fast to the house, for fear of being carried away by the 
water, and which stretched forth its branches over the river, 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


129 


just as the willow at Kjoge spread its arms across the 
streamlet by the gardens there. 

Yes, he had certainly gone from the “Elder-mother” to 
the “ AYillow-fathei’.” The tree here had something, espe- 
cially on moonlight evenings, that went’ straight to his heart 
—•and that something was not in the moonlight, but in the 
old tree itself. 

Nevertheless, he could not remain. Why not ? Ask the 
willow-tree, ask the blooming elder I And therefore he 
bade farewell to his master in Nuremberg, and journeyed 
onward. 

To no one did he speak of Joanna — in his secret heart 
hid his sorrow ; and he thought of the deep meaning in the 
old childish story of the two cakes. Now he understood 
why the man had a bitter almond in his breast — he himself 
felt the bitterness of it ; and Joanna, who was always so 
gentle and kind, was typified by the honey-cake. The strap 
of his knapsack seemed so tight across his chest that he 
could scarcely breathe ; he loosened it, but was not relieved. 
He saw but half the world around him ; the other half he 
carried about him, and within himself. And thus it stood 
with him. 

Not till he came in sight of the high mountains did the 
world appear freer to him ; and now his thoughts were 
turned without, and tears came into his eyes. 

The Alps appeared to him as the folded wings of the 
earth ; how if they were to unfold themselves, and display 
their variegated pictures of black woods, foaming waters, 
clouds, and masses of snow ? At the last day, he thought, 
the world will lift up its great wings, and mount upwards 
towards the sky, and burst like a soap-bubble in the glance 
of the Highest 1 

“All,” sighed he, “ that the Last Day were come I” 

I 6* 


130 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


Silently he wandered through the land, tnat seemed to 
him as an orchard covered with soft turf. Ih^om the wooden 
balconies of the houses the girls who sat busy with their 
lace-making nodded at him ; the summits of the mountains 
glowed in the red .sun of the .evening ; and when he saw 
the green lakes gleaming among the dark trees, he thought 
of the coast by the Bay of Kjoge, and there was longing in 
his bosom, but it was pain no more. 

There where the Bhine rolls onward like a great billow, 
and bursts, and is changed into snow-white, gleaming, 
cloud-like masses, as if clouds were being created there, 
with the rainbow fluttering like a loose band above them — 
there he thought of the water-mill at Kjoge, with its rush- 
ing, foaming water. 

Gladly would he have remained in the quiet Khenish 
town, but here, too, were too many elder-trees and willows, 
and therefore he journeyed on, over the high, mighty mount- 
ains, through shattered walls of rock, and on roads that 
clung like swallows^ nests to the mountain-side. The waters 
foamed on in the depths, the clouds were below him, and he 
strode on over thistles, Alpine roses, and snow, in the warm 
summer sun; and saying farewell to the lands of the North, 
he passed on under the shade of blooming chestnut-trees, 
and through vineyards and fields of maize. The mountains 
were a wall between him and all his recollections; and he 
wished it to be so. 

Before him lay a great glorious city which they called 
Milano, and here he found a German master who gave him 
work. They were an old pious couple, in whose workship 
he now labored. And the two old people became quite fond 
of the quiet journeyman, who said little, but worked all the 
more, and led a pious Christian life. To himself also it 
seemed as if Heaven had lifted the heavy burden from his heart 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE. 


131 


His favorite pastime was to mount now and then upon 
the mighty marble church, which seemed to him to have 
been formed of the snow of his native land, fashioned into 
roofs, and pinnacles, and decorated open halls : from every 
corner and every point the white statues smiled upon him. 
Above liim was the blue sky, below him the city and the 
wide-spreading Lombard plains, and towards the north the 
high mountains clad with perpetual snow; and he thought 
of the church of Kjoge, with its red, ivy-covered walls, but 
»ie did not long to go thither : here, beyond the mountains, 
he would be buried. 

He had dwelt here a year, and three years had passed 
away since he left his home, when one day his master took 
him into the city, not to the circus where riders exhibited, 
but to the opera, where was a hall worth seeing. There 
were seven stories, from each of which beautiful silken 
curtains hung down, and from the ground to the dizzy height 
of the roof sat elegant ladies, with bouquets of flowers in 
their hands, as if they were at a ball, and the gentlemen 
were in full dress, and many of them decorated with gold 
and silv^er. It was as bright there as in the brilliant sun- 
shine, and the music rolled gloriously through the building. 
Every thing was much more splendid than in the theatre at 
Copenhagen, but then Joanna had been there, and — could 
it be ! Yes, it was like magic — she was here also ! for the 
curtain rose, and J oanna appeared, dressed in silk and gold, 
with a crown upon her head : she sang as he thought none 
but angels could sing, and came far forward, qui^e to the 
front of the stage, and smiled as only Joanna could smile, 
and looked straight down at Knud. Poor Knud seized hia 
master’s hand and called out aloud, “ Joanna !” but no one 
heard but the master, who nodded his head, for the loud 
music sounded above every thing. “ Yes, yes, her name is 


132 


andeesen's tales. 


Joanna !” said the master, and he drew forth a printed play* 
bill, and showed Knud her name — for the full name was 
piinted there. 

No, it was not a dream 1 All the people applauded, and 
threw wreaths and flowers to her, and every time she went 
away they called her back, so that she was always going 
and coming. 

In the street the people, crowded round her carriage, and 
drew it away in triumph. Knud was in the foremost row, 
and shouted as joyously as any; and when the carriage 
stopped before her brilliantly lighted house, Knud stood 
close beside the door of the carriage. It flew open, and 
she stepped out : the light fell upon her dear face, as she 
smiled, and made a kindly gesture of thanks, and appeared 
deeply moved. Knud looked straight into her face, and 
she looked into his, but she did not know him. A man with 
a star glittering on his breast gave her his arm — and it was 
whispered about that the two were engaged. 

Then Knud went home and packed his knapsack. He 
was determined to go back to his own home, to the elder 
and the willow-tree — ah, under the willow-tree I A whole 
litie is sometimes lived through in a single hour. 

The old couple begged him to remain, but no words could 
induce him to stay. It was in vain they told him that win- 
ter was coming, and pointed out that snow had already 
fallen in the mountains; he said he could march on, with 
his knapsack on his back, in the wake of the slow-moving 
carriage, for which they would have to clear a path. 

So he went away towards the mountains, and marched 
up them and down them. His strength was giving way, 
but still he saw no village, no house; he marched on to- 
wards the north. The stars gleamed above him, his feet 
stumbled, and his head grew dizzy. Deep in the valley 


UNDER THE WILLOW TREE 


133 


stars were shining too, and it seemed as if there were 
another sky below him. He felt he was ill. The stars be- 
low him became more and more numerous, and glowed 
brighter and brighter, and moved to and fro. It was a 
little town whose lights beamed there; and when he under- 
stood that, he exerted the remains of his strength, and at 
last reached the shelter of an humble inn. 

That night and the whole of tlie following day he re- 
mained there, for his body required rest and refreshment. 
It was thawing ; there was rain in the valley. But early 
on the second morning came a man with an organ, who 
played a tune of home; and now Knud could stay no longer. 
He continued his journey towards the north, marching on 
ward for many days with haste and hurry, as if he were 
trying to get home before all .were dead there; but to no 
one did he speak of his longing, for no one would have be- 
lieved in the sorrow of his heart, the deepest a human heart 
can feel. Such a grief is not for the world, for it is not 
amusing; nor is it even for friends; and, moreover, he had 
no friends — a stranger, he wandered through strange lands 
towards his home in the north. 

It was evening. He was walking on the public high- 
road. The frost began to make itself felt, and the country 
soon became flatter, containing mere field and meadow. 
By the road-side grew a great willow-tree. Every thing re- 
minded him of home, and he sat down under the tree; he 
felt very tired, his head began to nod, and his eyes closed 
in slumber, but still he was conscious that the tree stretched 
its arms above him; and in his wandering fancy the tree 
itself appeared to be an old, mighty man — it seemed as il 
the “Willow-father” himself had taken up his tired son in 
his arms, and were carrying him back into the land of home, 
to the bare bleak shore of Kjoge, to the garden of his child- 


134 


Andersen’s tales. 


hood. Yes, he dreamed it was the willow-tree of KjSge 
that had travelled out into the world to seek him, and that 
now had found him, and had led him back into the little 
garden by the streamlet; and there stood Joanna, in all her 
splendor, with the golden crown on her head, as he had 
seen her last, and she called out “ welcome” to him. 

And before him stood two remarkable shapes, which 
looked much more human than he remembered them 
to have been in his childhood : they had changed also, but 
they were still the two cakes that turned the right side 
towards him, and looked very well. 

“ We thank you,” they said to Knud. “ You have loosened 
our tongues, and have taught us that thoughts should be 
spoken out freely, or nothing will come of them; and now 
something has indeed come of it — we are betrothed.” 

Then they went hand in hand through the streets of 
Kjoge, and they looked very respectable in every way; there 
was no fault to find with them. And they went on, straight 
towards the church, and Knud and Joanna followed them; 
they also were walking hand in hand; and the church stood 
there as it had always stood, with its red walls, on which 
the green ivy grew; and the great door of the church flew 
open, and the organ sounded, and they walked up the long 
aisle of the church. “ Our master first,” said the cake- 
couple, and made room for Joanna and Knud, who knelt by 
the altar, and she bent her head over him, and tears fell 
from her eyes, but they were icy cold, for it was the ico 
around her heart that was melting — melting by his strong 
love; and the tears fell upon his burning cheeks, and he 
awoke, and was sitting under the old willow-tree in the 
strange land, in the cold wintry evening: an icy hail was 
falling from the clouds and beating on his face. 

“ That was the most delicious hour of my life 1” he said, 


THE BEETLE. 


135 


* and it was but a dream. Oh, let me dream again And 
he closed his eyes once more, and slept and dreamed. 

Towards morning there was a great fall of snow. The 
wind drifted the snow over him, but he slept on. The vil- 
lagers came forth to go to church, and by the road-side sat 
a journeyman. He was dead — frozen to death under the 
willow-tree 1 


THE BEETLE. 

The emperor's favorite horse was shod with gold. It 
had a golden shoe on each of its feet. 

And why was this ? 

He was a beautiful creature, with delicate legs, bright 
intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck 
like a veil. He had carried his master through the fire and 
smoke of battle, and heard the bullets whistling around 
him, had kicked, bitten, and taken part in the fight when 
the enemy advanced, and had sprung with his master on 
his back over the fallen foe, and had saved the crown of red 
gold, and the life of the emperor, which was more valuable 
than the Ted gold ; and that is why the emperor's horse 
had golden shoes. 

And a beetle came creeping forth. 

“ First the great ones," said he, “ and then the little ones; 
but greatness is not the only thing that does it.” And so 
saying, he stretched out his thin legs. 

'And pray what do you want ?” asked the smith. 

“ Golden shoes, to be sure," replied the beetle. 

“ Why, you must be out of your senses," cried the smith 
“ Do you want to have golden shoes too ?” 


136 


andebsen's tales. 


“ Golden shoes ? certainly,” replied the beetle. ‘‘Am 1 
not just as good as that big creature yonder, that is waited 
on, and brushed, and has meat and drink put before him ? 
Don’t I belong to the imperial stable ?” 

“ But why is the horse to have golden shoes ? Don’t yon 
understand that ?” asked the smith. 

“Understand? I understand that it is a personal slight 
offered to myself,” cried the beetle. “ It is done to annoy 
me, and therefore I am going into the world to seek my 
fortune.” 

“ Go along I” said the smith. 

“ You’re a rude fellow I” cried the beetle ; and then ho 
went out of the stable, flew a little way, and soon afterwards 
found himself in a beautiful flower-garden, all fragrant 
with roses and lavender. 

“ Is it not beautiful here ?” asked one of the little lady- 
birds that flew about with their delicate wings and their 
red-and-black shields on their backs. “How sweet it is 
here — how beautiful it is 1” 

“ I’m accustomed to better things,” said the beetle. “ Do 
you call this beautiful? Why, there is not so much as a 
dung-heap.” 

Then he went on, under the shadow of a great stack, and 
found a caterpillar crawling along. 

“ How beautiful the world is I” said the caterpillar : “ the 
sun is so warm, and every thing so enjoyable I And when 
I go to sleep, and die, as they call it, I shall wake up as a 
butterfly, with beautiful wings to fly with.” 

“ How conceited you are I” exclaimed the stag-beetle. 
“ Fly about as a butterfly, indeed ! I’ve come out of the 
stable of the emperor, and no one there, not even the em- 
peror’s favorite horse — that, by the way, wears my cast-off 
golden shoes — has any such idea. To have wings to fly I why 


THE BEETLE. 


137 


W’e can fly now f and he spread hi^ wings and flew away. 

I don^fc want to be annoyed, and yet I am annoyed,” he 
said, as he flew off. 

Soon afterwards he fell down upon a great lawn. For 
awhile he lay there and feigned slumber ; at last he fell 
asleep in earnest. 

Suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the 
clouds. The beetle woke up at the noise, and wanted to 
escape into the earth, but could not. He was tumbled over 
and over ; sometimes he was swimming on his stomach, 
sometimes on his back, and as for flying, that was out of 
the question ; he doubted whether he should escape from 
the place with his life. He therefore remained lying where 
he was. 

When the weather had moderated a little, and the beetle 
had rubbed the, water out of his eyes, he saw something 
gleaming. It was linen that had been placed there to 
bleach. He managed to make his way up to it, and crept 
into a fold of the damp linen. Certainly the place was not 
so comfortable to lie in as the warm stable ; but there was 
no better to be had, and therefore he remained lying there 
for a whole day and a whole night, and the rain kept on 
during all the time. Towards morning he crept forth : he 
was very much out of temper about the climate. 

On the linen two frogs were sitting. Their bright eyes 
absolutely gleamed with pleasure. 

“Wonderful weather this I” one of them cried. “How 
refreshing I And the linen keeps the water together so 
beautifully. My hind legs seem to quiver as if I were 
going to swim.” 

“ I should like to know,” said the second, “ if the swallow, 
who flies so far round in her many journeys in foreign lands, 
ever meets with a better climate than this. What delicious 


138 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


dampness 1 It is really as if one were tying in a wet 
ditch. Whoever does not rejoice in this, certainty does not 
love his fatherland.” 

“ Have you been in the emperor’s stable ?” asked the 
beetle. “ There the dampness is warm and refreshing 
That’s the climate for me ; but I cannot take it with me on 
my journey. Is there never a muck-heap, here in the gar- 
den, where a person of rank, like myself, can feel himself 
at home, and take up his quarters ?” 

But the frogs either did not or would not understand 
him. - 

“ I never ask a question twice I” said the beetle, after he 
had already asked this one three times without receiving 
an answer. 

Then he went a little further, and stumbled against a 
fragment of pottery, that certainty ought not to have been 
tying there ; but as it was once there, it gave a good shel- 
ter against wind and weather. Here dwelt several families 
of earwigs ; and these did not require much, only sociality. 
The female members of the community were full of the 
purest maternal affection, and accordingly each one con- 
sidered her own child the most beautiful and cleverest of 
all. 

“ Our son has engaged himself,” said one mother. “Dear, 
innocent boy I His greatest hope is that he may creep one 
day into a clergyman’s ear. It’s very artless and lovable, 
that ; and being engaged will keep him steady. What joy 
for a mother I” 

“ Our son,” said another mother, “ had scarcely crept out 
out of the egg, when he was already off on his travels. 
He’s all life and spirits ; he’ll run his horns off ! What joy 
is that for a mother I Is it not so, Mr. Beetle ?” for she 
knew the stranger by his horny coat. 


the beetle. 


139 


You are both quite right,” said he ; so the}’ begged him 
to walk in ; that is to say, to come as far as he could under 
the bit of pottery. 

“ Now, you also see my little earwig,” observed a third 
mother and a fourth : “ they are lovely little things, and highly 
amusing. They are never ill-behaved, except when they 
are uncomfortable in their inside ; but, unfortunately, one 
is very subject to that at their age.” 

Thus each mother spoke of her baby ; and the babies 
talked among themselves, and made use of the little nippers 
they have in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle. 

“Yes, they are always busy about something, the little 
rogues I” said the mothers ; and they quite beamed with 
maternal pride ; but the beetle felt bored by that, and 
therefore he inquired how far it was to the nearest muck-heap. 

“ That’s quite out in the big world, on the other side 
of the ditch,” answered an earwig. “ I hope none of my 
children will go so far, for it would be the death of me.” 

“But I shall try to go so far,” said the beetle ; and he 
went off without taking formal leave; for that is considered 
the polite thing to do. And by the ditch he met several 
friends — beetles, all of them. 

“ Here we live,” they said. “ We are very comfortable 
here. Might we ask you to step down into this rich mud ? 
You must be fatigued after your journey.” 

“ Certainly,” replied the beetle. “ I have been exposed 
tf) the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness 
is a thing that greatly exhausts me. I have also pains in 
one of my wings, from standing in a draught under a frag- 
ment of pottery. It is really quite refreshing to be among 
cre’s companions once more.” 

“ Perhaps you come from some muck-heap ?” observed 
the oldest cf them. 


140 


Andersen’s tales. 

“ Indeed, I come from a much higher place,” replied thfl 
beetle'; “ I come from the emperor’s stable, where I was 
born with golden shoes on my feet. I am travelling on a 
secret embassy. You must not ask me any g'.estions, for I 
can’t betray my secret.” 

With this the beetle stepped down into the rich mud. 
There sat three young maiden beetles; and they tittered, 
because they did not know what to say. 

Not one of them is engaged yet,” said their mother ; 
and the beetle maidens tittered again, this time from em- 
barrassment. 

“ I have never seen greater beauties in the royal stables,” 
exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting himself. 

“ Don’t spoil my girls,” said the mother ; “ and don't 
talk to them, please, unless you have serious intentions. 
But of course your intentions are serious, and therefore I 
give you my blessing.” 

“Hurrah 1” cried all the other beetles together ; and our 
friend was engaged. Immediate^ after the betrothal came 
the marriage, for there was no reason for delay. 

The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next 
in tolerable comfort ; but on the third it was time to think 
of food for the wife, and perhaps also for children. 

“ I have allowed myself to be taken in,” said the beetle 
to himself. “ And now there’s nothing for it but to take 
them in, in turn.” 

So said, so done. Away he went, and he stayed away all 
day. and stayed away all night ; and his wife sat there a 
forsaken widow. 

“ Oh,” said the other beetles, “ this fellow whoni wo 
received into our family is nothing more than a thorough 
vagabond. He has gone away, and has left his wife a 
burden upon our hands.” 


THE BEETLE. 


141 


“Well, then, she shall be unmarried again, and sit here 
among my daughters,” said the mother. “ Fie on the 
villain who forsook her !” 

In the mean time the beetle had been journeying on, and 
had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage-leaf. In the morn- 
ing two persons came to the ditch. When they saw him, 
they took him up, and turned him over, looked very learned, 
especially one of them — a boy. 

“ Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone and in 
the black rock. Is not that written in the Koran ?” Then 
he translated the beetle^s name into Latin, and enlarged 
upon the creature’s nature and history. The second person, 
an older scholar, voted for carrying him home. He said 
they wanted just such good specimens; and this seemed an 
uncivil speech to our beetle, and in consequence he flew sud- 
denly out of the speaker’s hand. As he had now dry wings, 
he flew a tolerable distance, and reached a hotbed, where a 
sash of the glass roof was partially open, so he quietly 
slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth. 

‘‘ Very comfortable it is here,” said he. 

Soon after he went to sleep, and dreamed that the em- 
peror’s favorite horse had fallen, and had given him his 
golden shoes, with the promise that he should have two 
more. 

That was all very charming. When the beetle woke up, he 
ci’ept forth and looked around him. What splendor was in 
tile hothouse I In the background great palm-trees grow 
ing up on high ; the sun made them look transparent ; and 
beneath them what a luxuriance of green, and of beaming 
flowers, red as Are, yellow as amber, or white as fresh- 
fallen snow I 

“^This is an incomparable plenty of plants,” cried the 
beetle. “ How good they will taste when they are decayed? 


142 


Andersen’s tales. 


A capital storeroom this ! There must certainly he rel» 
tions of mine living here. I will just see if I can find anj 
one with whom I may associate. I am proud, certainly, 
and I am proud of being so.” And so he prowled about in 
the earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was 
about the dying horse, and the golden shoes he had ir 
herited. 

Suddenly a hand seized the beetle, and pressed him, and 
turned him round and round. 

The gardener^s little son and a companion had come to 
the hotbed, had espied the beetle, and wanted to have their 
fun with him. First he was wrapped in a vine-leaf, and 
then put into warm trowsers-pocket. He cribbled and crab- 
bled about there with all his might ; but he got a good 
pressing from the boy’s hand for this, which served as a 
hint to him to keep quiet. Then the boy went rapidly to- 
wards the great lake that lay at the end of the garden. 
Here the beetle was put in an old broken wooden shoe, (;n 
which a little stick was placed upright for a mast, and to 
this mast the beetle was bound with a woollen-thread. 
Now he was a sailor, and had to sail away. 

The lake was not very large, but to the beetle it seemed 
an ocean ; and he was so astonished at its extent, that he 
fell over on his back and kicked out with his legs. 

The little ship sailed away. The current of the water 
seized it ; but whenever it went too far from the shore, one 
of the boys turned up his trowsers and went in after it, and 
brought it back to the land. But at length, just as it went 
merrily out again, the two boys were called away, and very 
harshly, so that they hurried to obey the summons, ran 
away from the lake, and left the little ship to its fate. 
Thus it drove away from the shore, further and further 
into the open sea : it was terrible work for the beetle, foi 


THE BEETLE. 


143 ^ 


be could not get away in consequence of being bound to 
tbe mast. 

Then a fly came and paid him a visit. 

“ What beautiful weather !” said the fly. “ I’ll rest here, 
and sun myself. You have an agreeable time of it.” 

“You speak without knowing the facts,” replied the 
beetle. “Don’t you see that I’m a prisoner.” 

“ Ah ! but I’m not a prisoner,” observed the fly ; and he 
flew away accordingly. 

“ Well, now I know the world,” said the beetle to him- 
self. “It is an abominable world. I’m the only honest 
person in it. First, they refuse me my golden shoes ; then 
I have to lie on wet linen, and to stand in the draught ; 
and, to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me. Then when 
I’ve taken a quick step out into the world, and found out 
how one can have it there, and how I wished to have it, 
one of those human boys comes and ties me up, and leaves 
me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor’s 
favorite horse prances about proudly in golden shoes. That 
is what annoys me more than all. But one must not look 
for sympathy in this world I My career has been very 
interesting ; but what’s the use of that, if nobody knows 
it? The world does not deserve to be made acquainted 
with my history, for it ought to have given me golden 
shoes when the emperor’s horse was shod, and I stretched 
out my feet to be shod too. If I had received golden shoes, 
I should have become an ornament to ttie stable. Now the 
Btable has lost me, and the world has lost me. It is all 
over !” 

But all was not over yet. A boat, in which there were a 
"Tew young girls, came rowing up. 

“ Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,” said 
one of the girls. 


144 


Andersen's tales. 


'‘There’s a little creature bound fast to it,” said another. 

The boat came quite close to our beetle’s ship, and the 
young girls fished him out of the water. One of them drew 
a small pair of scissors from her pocket, and cut the woollen 
thread, without hurting the beetle ; and when she stepped 
on shore, she put him down on the grass. 

“ Creep, creep — fly, fly — if thou canst,” she said. “ Lib- 
erty is a splendid thing.” 

And the beetle flew up, and straight through the open 
window of a great building; there he sank down, tired and 
exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperor’s favorite 
horse, who stood in the stable when he was at home, and 
the beetle also. The beetle clung fast to the mane, and sat 
there a short time to recover himself. 

“ Here I’m sitting on the emperor’s favorite horse — sit- 
ting on him just like the emperor himself I” he cried. “But 
what was I saying ? Yes, now I remember. That’s a good 
thought, and quite correct. The smith asked me why the 
golden shoes were given to the horse. Now I’m quite clear 
about the answer. They were given to the horse on my 
account.” 

And now the beetle was in a good temper again. 

“ Travelling expands the mind rarely,” said he. 

The sun’s rays came streaming into the stable, and shono 
upon him, and made the place lively and bright. 

“ The world is not so bad upon the whole,” said the 
beetle ; “ but one must know how to take things as they 
come.” 


WHAT THE OLD MAJST DOES IS ALWAYS EIGHT. 145 


WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS 
EIGHT. 

I WILL tell you a story which was told to me when I was 
54 little boy. Every time I thought of the story, it seemed 
to me to become more and more charming ; for it is with 
stories as with many people — they become better as they 
grow older. 

I take it for granted that you have been in tlie country^ 
and seen a very old farmhouse with a thatched roof, and 
mosses and small plants growing wild upon the thatch. 
There is a stork’s nest on the summit of the gable; for we 
can’t do without the stork. The walls of the house are 
sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter 
is uiade so that it will open. The baking-oven sticks out of 
the wall like a little fat body. The elder-tree hangs over 
the paling, and beneath its branches, at the foot of the pal- 
ing, is a pool of water in which a few ducks are disporting 
themselves. There is a yard-dog, too, who barks at all comers. 

Just such a farmhouse stood out in the country ; and in 
this house dwelt an old couple — a peasant and his wife. Small 
as was their property, there was one article among it that they 
could do without — a horse, which made a living out of the 
grass it found by the side of the high-road. The old peasant 
rode into the town on this horse ; and often his neighbors 
borrowed it from him, and rendered the old couple some 
service in return for the loan of it. But they thought it 
would best if they sold the horse, or exchanged it for 
something that might be more useful to them. But what 
might tlds something be ? 

“ You’ll know that best, old man,” said the wife. “ It is 
fair-day to-day, so ride into town, and get rid of the horse 

7 


I 


146 ANDERSENS TALES. 

for money, or make a good exchange; whichever you do 
will be right to me. Kide to the fair.” 

And she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could 
do that better than he could; and she tied it in a double 
bow, for she could do that very prettily. Then she brushed 
liis hat round and round with the palm of her hand, and 
gave him a kiss. So he rode away upon the horse that was 
to be sold or to be bartered for something else. Yes, the 
old man knew what he was about. 

The sun shone hotly down, not a cloud was to be seen in 
the sky. The road was very dusty, for many people who 
were all bound for the fair were driving, or riding, or 
walking upon it. There was no shelter anywhere from 
the sunbeams. 

Among the rest, was a man trudging along, and driving 
a cow to the fair. The cow was as beautiful a creature as 
any cow can be. 

“ She gives good milk. Pm sure,” said the peasant. “ That 
would be a very good exchange — the cow for the horse.” 

“ Hallo, you there with the cow 1” he said; “ I’ll tell you 
what — I fancy a horse costs more than a cow, but donT 
care for that; a cow would be more useful to me. If you 
like, wedl exchange.” 

“To be sure I will,” said the man; and they exchanged 
accordingly. 

So that was settled, and the peasant might have turned 
back, for he had done the business he came to do; but as 
he had once made up his mind to go to the fair, be deter- 
mined to proceed, merely to have a look at it; so he went 
on to the town with his cow. 

Leading the animal, he strode sturdily on; and after a 
time he overtook a man who was driving a sheep. It was 
a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back. 


WHAT THE OLE MAN DOES IS ALWAYS EIGHT. 147 


“ I should like to have that fellow,” said our peasant to 
himself. “ lie would find plenty of grass by our palings, 
and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. 
Perhaps it would be more practical to have a sheep in- 
stead of a cow. Shall we exchange ?” 

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bar- 
gain was struck. So the peasant went on in the high-road 
with his sheep. 

Soon he overtook another man, who came into the road 
from a field, carrying a great goose under his arm. 

That’s a heavy thing you have there. It has plenty of 
feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a 
string, and paddling in the water at our place. That would 
be something for my old woman; she could make all kinds 
of profit out of it. How often she has said, ‘ If we only 
had a goose I’ Now, perhaps, she can have one; and, if 
possible, it shall be hers. Shall we exchange ? I’ll give 
jmu my sheep for your goose, and thank you into the bar- 
gain.” 

The other man had not the least objection; and accord- 
ingly they exchanged, and our peasant became proprietor 
of the goose. 

By this time he was very near the town. The crowd on 
the high-road became greater and greater; there was quite 
a crush of men and cattle. They walked in the road, and 
close by the palings; and at the barrier they even walked 
into the toll-man’s potato-field, where his one fowl was strut- 
ting about, with a string to its leg, lest it should take fright 
at the crowd, and stray away, and so be lost. This fowl had 
short tail-feathers, and winked with both its eyes, and 
looked very cunning. “Cluck, cluck!” said the fowl. 
AVhat it thought when it said this I cannot tell you; but 
directly our good man saw it, he thought, “That’s the finest 


148 


Andersen’s tales. 


N 

fowl Pvc ever seen in Joy life 1 Why, it’s finer than oui 
parson’s brood hen. On my word, I should like to liave 
that fowl. A fowl can alwaj^s find a grain or two, and can 
almost keep itself. I think it would be a good exchange if 
I could get that for my goose.” 

“ Shall we exchange ?” he asked the toll-taker. 

“ Exchange 1” repeated the man; “ well, that would not 
be a bad thing.” 

And so they exchanged; the toll-taker at the barrier kept 
the goose, and the peasant carried away the fowl. 

Now, he had done a good deal of business on his way to 
the fair, and he was hot and tired. He w^anted something 
to eat, and a glass of brandy to drink; and soon he was in 
front of the inn. He was just about to step in when the 
hostler came out, so they met at the door. The hostler was 
carrying a sack. 

“ What have you in that sack ?” asked the peasant. 

“Rotten apples,” answered the liostler; “ a whole sack- 
ful of them — enough to feed the pigs with.” 

“ Why, that’s terrible waste I I should like to take them 
to my old woman at home. Last year the old tree by the 
turf-hole only bore a single apple, and we kept it on the 
cupboard till it was quite rotten and spoilt. ‘It was 
always property,’ my old woman said; but here she could 
'?ee a quantity of property — a whole sackful. Yes, I shall 
be glad to show them to her.” 

“ What will you give me for the sackful ?” asked the 
hostler. 

“ What will I give ? I will give my fowl in exchange.” 

And he gave the fowl accordingly, and received the 
apples, which he carried into the guest-room. He leaned 
the sack carefully by the stove, and then went to the table. 
But (lie stove was hot : he had not thought of that. Many 


WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS EIGHT. 149 


g-uests were present— horse-dealers, ox-herds, and two 
Englishmen — and the two Englishmen were so rich that 
their pockets bulged out with gold coins, and almost burst; 
and they could bet too, as you shall hear. 

Hiss-s-s I hiss-s-s I What was that by the stove ? Tba 
apples were beginning to roast 1 

“ What is that ?” 

“ AV'hy, do you know — said our peasant. 

And he told the whole story of the horse that he had 
changed for a cow, and all the rest of it, down to the apples. 

“Well, your old woman will give it you well when yon 
get home I” said one of the two Englishmen. “ There will 
be a disturbance.” 

“ What ? — give me what ?” said the peasant. “ She will 
kiss me, and say, ‘ What the old man does is always right.^ ” 

“ Shall we wager ?” said the Englishman. “ Wedl wager 
coined gold by the ton — a hundred pounds to the hundred- 
weight 1” 

“ A bushel will be enough,” replied the peasant. “ I can 
only set the bushel of apples against it; and Pll throw my- 
self and my old woman into the bargain — and I fancy that's 
piling up the measure.” 

“ Done — taken !” 

And the bet was made. The host's carriage came up, and 
the Englivshmen got in, and the peasant got in; away they 
went, and soon they stopped before the peasant's hut. 

“ Good-evening, old woman.” 

“ Good-evening, old man.” 

“ I've made the exchange.” 

“ Yes, you understand what you're about,*' said the 
woman. 

And she embraced him, and paid no attention to tti^ 
stranger guests, nor did she notice the sack. 


150 


Andersen’s tales. 


“ I got a cow in exchange for tlie liorse,” said he. 

“ Heaven be thanked !” said she. “ What glorious milk 
we shall have, and butter and cheese on the table I That 
was a capital exchange I” 

“ Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep.” 

“ Ah, that’s better still !” cried the wife. “ You always 
think of every thing : we have just pasture enough for a 
sheep. Ewe’s-milk and cheese, and woollen jackets and 
stockings I The cow cannot give those, and her hairs will 
only come off. How you think of every thing I” 

“ But I changed away the sheep for a goose.” 

“ Then this year we shall really have roast goose to eat, 
my dear old man. You are always thinking of something 
to give me pleasure. How charming that is I We can lei 
the goose walk about with a string to her leg, and she’ll 
grow fatter still before we roast her.” 

“ But I gave away the goose for a fowl,” said tlie man. 

‘‘ A fowl ? That was a good exchange !” replied the 
woman. “ The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we 
shall have chickens : we shall have a whole poultry-yard 1 
Oh, that’s just what I was wishing for.” 

“ Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled 
apples.” 

“ What ! — I must positively kiss you for that,” exclaimed 
the wife. My dear, good husband ! Now, I’ll tell you 
something. Do you know, you had hardly left me this 
morning, before I began thinking how I could give you 
something very nice this evening. I thought it should be 
pancakes with savory herbs. I had eggs, and bacon too; 
but I wanted herbs. So I went over to the schoolmaster’s 
—they have herbs there, I know — but the schoolmistress is 
a mean woman, though she looks so sweet. I begged her 
to lend mo a handful of herbs. ‘ Lend !’ she answered me; 


WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 151 

'nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled 
apple. I could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my 
dear wonian.^ But now I can lend her ten, or a whole sack- 
ful, That Pm very glad of; that makes me laugh I” And 
with that she gave him a sounding kiss. 

“ I like that I” exclaimed both the Englishmen together 
‘Always going down-hill, and always merry; thaPs worth 
khe money.” So they paid a hundred-weight of gold to the 
oeasant, who was not scolded, but kissed. 

Yes, it always pays, when the wife sees and always as- 
/<erts that her husband knows best, and that whatever he 
does is right. 

You see, that is my story. I heard it when I was a 
child ; and now yea have heard it too, and know that 
“What the old mxn does is always right.” 


THE WIND TELLS A LOUT WALDEMAE DAA 
AND HIS LAUGHTEES. 

When the wind sweeps aciess the grass the field has a 
ripple like a pond ; and when it sweeps across the corn the 
field waves to and fro like a high sea. That is called the 
wind’s dance; but the wind doet not dance only, he also 
tells stories; and how loudly he can sing out of his deep 
chest, and how different it sounds in the tree-tops in the 
foiest, and through the loopholes aid clefts and cracks in 
walls I Bo you see how the wind drives the clouds up yon- 
der, like a frightened flock of sheep ? Do you hear how the 
wind howls down here through th j open valley, like a 
watchman blowing his horn ? With wonderful tones he 


m 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


whistles and screams down the chimney and into the fire* 
place. The fire crackles and flares up, and shines, far into 
the room, and the little place is warm and snug, and it is 
pleasant to sit there listening to the sounds. Let the wind 
speak, for he knows plenty of stories and fairy tales, many 
more than are known to any of us. Just hear what the 
wind can tell. 

Huh — uh — ush! roar along I That is the burden of the song. 

“ By the shores of the Great Belt, one of the straits that 
unite the Gattegat with the Baltic, lies an old mansion with 
thick red walls,” says the Wind. “I know every stone ’in 
it; I saw it when it still belonged to the castle of Marsk 
Stig on the promontory. But it had to be pulled down, and 
the stone was used again for the walls of a new mansion 
in another place, the baronial mansion of Borreby, which 
still stands by the coast. 

“ I knew them, the noble lords and ladies, the changing 
races that dwelt there, and now Bm going to tell about 
Waldemar Daa and his daughters. How proudly he carried 
himself — he was of royal blood I He could do more than 
merely hunt the stag and empty the wine-can. ‘ It ^hall be 
done,’ he was accustomed to say. 

“ His wife walked proudly in gold-embroidered garments 
over the polished marble floors. The tapestries were gor- 
geous, the furniture was expensive and artistically carved. 
She had brought gold and silver plate with her into tho 
house, and there was German beer in the cellar. Black fiery 
horses neighed in the stables. There was a wealthy look 
about the house of Borreby at that time, when wealth was 
still at home there. 

“ Four children dwelt there also ; three delicate maidens, 
Ida, Joanna, and Anna Dorothea : I have never forgotten 
their names. 


WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 153 


They were rich people, noble people, borii in affluence, 
nurtured in affluence. 

“ Huh — sh ! roar along I” sang the Wind ; and then he 
continued : 

“ I did not see here, as in other great noble houses, tho 
high-born lady sitting among her women in the great hall 
turning the spinning-wheel : here she swept the sounding 
chords of the cithern, and sang to the sound, but not always 
old Danish melodies, but songs of a strange land. It was 
‘ live and let live^ here ; stranger guests came from far and 
near, the music sounded, the goblets clashed, and I was not 
able to drown the noise,’’ said the Wind. “ Ostentation, 
and haughtiness, and splendor, and display, and rule were 
there, but the fear of the Lord was not there. 

“ And it was just on the evening of the first day of May,” 
the Wind continued. “ I came from the west, and had seen 
how the ships were being crushed by the waves, with all 
on board, and flung on the west coast of Jutland. I had 
hurried across the heath, and over Jutland’s wood-girt 
eastern coast, and over the Island of Filnen, and now 1 
drove over the Great Belt, groaning and sighing. 

“ Then I lay down to rest on the shore of Seeland, in the 
neighborhood of the great house of Borreby, where the 
forest, the splendid oak forest, still rose. 

“ The young men-servants of the neighborhood were col- 
lecting branches and brushwood under the oak-trees ; the 
argest and driest they could find they carried into the vil- 
lage, and piled them up in a heap, and set them on fire ; 
and men and maids danced, singing in a circle round the 
blazing pile. 

“ I lay quite quiet,” continued the Wind ; “ but I silently 
touched a branch, which had been brought by the hand- 
gomes t of the men-servants, and the wood blazed up 

1 * 


154 


Andersen’s tales. 


brightly, blazed up higher than all the rest ; and now he 
was the chosen one, and bore the name of the Street-goat, 
and might choose his Street-lamb first from among the 
maids ; and there was mirth and rejoicing, greater than I 
ever heard before in the halls of the rich baronial mansion. 

“And the noble lady drove towards the baronial mansion, 
ui 111 her three daughters, in a gilded carriage, drawn by 
six horses. The daughters were young and fair, three 
charming blossoms — rose, lily, and pale hyacinth. The 
mother was a proud tulip, and never acknowledged the 
salutation of one of the men or maids who paused in their 
sport to do her honor : the gracious lady seemed a flower 
that was rather stiff in the stalk. 

“ Rose, lily, and pale hyacinth ; yes, I saw them all 
three 1 Whose lambkins will they one day become ? 
thought I ; their Street-goat will be a gallant knight, per^ 
haps a prince. Huh — sh ! hurry along I hurry along 1 

“ Yes, the carriage rolled on with them, and the peasant 
people resumed their dancing. They rode that summer 
through all the villages round about. But in the night, 
when I rose again,” said the Wind, “ the very noble lady 
lay down, to rise again no more : that thing came upon 
her which comes upon all — there is nothing new in that. 

“ Waldemar Baa stood for a space silent and thoughtful 
' The proudest tree can be bowed without being broken,^ 
said a voice within him. His daughters wept, and all the 
people in the mansion wiped their eyes ; but Lady Baa had 
driven away — and I drove away, too, and rushed along, 
huh — sh 1” said the Wind. 

“ I returned again ; I often returned again over the 
Island of Fiinen, and the shores of the Belt, and I sat 
down by Borreby, by the splendid oak wood ; there the 


WALDEMAR DAA AND dlS DAUGHTERS. 155 


heron made his nest, and wood-pigeons haunted the place, 
and blue ravens, and even the black stork. It was still 
spring ; some of them were yet sitting on their eggs, others 
bad already hatched their young. But how they flew up, 
how they cried I The axe sounded, blow on blow : the 
wood was to be felled. Waldemar Daa wanted to build a 
noble ship, a man-of-war, a three-decker, which the king 
would be sure to buy ; and therefore the wood must be 
felled, the landmark of the seamen, the refuge of the birds. 
The hawk started up and flew t*way, for its nest was de- 
stroyed ; the heron and all the birds of the forest became 
homeless, and flew about in fear and in anger : I could 
well understand how they felt. Crows and ravens croaked 
aloud as if in scorn. ‘ Crack, crack I the nest cracks, 
cracks, cracks I’ 

“ Far in the interior of the wood, where the noisy swarm 
of laborers were working, stood Waldemar Daa and his 
three daughters ; and all laughed at the wild cries of the 
birds ; only one, the youngest, Anna Dorothea, felt grieved 
in her heart ; and when they made preparations to fell a- 
tree that was almost dead, and on whose naked branches 
the black stork had built his nest, whence the little storks 
were stretching out their heads, she begged for mercy for 
the little things, and tears came into her eyes. Therefore 
the tree with the black stork’s nest was left standing. The 
tree was not worth speaking of. 

“ There was a great hewing and sawing, and a three- 
decker was built. The architect was of low origin, but of 
great pride ; his eyes and forehead told how clever he was, 
and W^aldemar Daa was fond of listening to him, and so 
was Waldemar’s daughter Ida, the eldest, who was now 
fifteen years old ; and while he built a ship for the father, 
he was building for himself an airy castle, into which he 


156 


ANDERSEN^S TALES. 


and Ida were to go as a married couple — whicli might, in* 
deed, have happened, if the castle with stone walls, and 
ramparts, and moats had remained. But in spite of his 
wise head, the architect remained but a poor bird ; and, 
indeed, what business has a sparrow to take part in a dance 
of peacocks ? Huh — sh ! I careered away, and he ca- 
reered away, too, for he was not allowed to stay ; and 
little Ida got over it, because she was obliged to get over it. 

“ The proud, black horses were neighing in the stable ; 
they were worth looking at, and accordingly they tuere 
looked at. The admiral, who had been sent by the king 
himself to inspect the new ship and take measures for its 
purchase, spoke loudly in admiration of the beautiful horses. 

“ I heard all that,” said the Wind. “ I accompanied the 
gentlemen through the open door, and strewed b|ades of 
straw like bars of gold before their feet. Waldemar Daa 
wanted to have gold, and the admiral wished for the proud, 
black horses, and that is why he praised them so much ; 
but the hint was not taken, and consequently the ship was 
not bought. It remained on the shore, covered over with 
boards, a Noah’s ark that never got to the water — Huh — sh 1 
rush away I away I — and that was a pity. 

“In the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, 
and the water with large blocks of ice that I blew up on to 
the coast,” continued the Wind, “ crows and ravens came, 
all as black as might be, great flocks of them, and alighted 
on the dead, deserted, lonely ship by the shore, and croaked 
in hoarse accents of the wood that was no more, of the 
many pretty birds’ nests destroj^ed, and the little ones left 
without a home ; and all for the sake of that great bit of 
lumber, that proud ship that never sailed forth. 

“ I made the snow-flakes whirl, and the snow lay like a 


WALDEMAR I/AA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 157 


great lake high around the ship, and drifted over it. I let 
it hear my voice, that it might know what a storm has to 
say. Certainly I did my part towards teaching it seaman- 
ship. Huh — sh I push along. 

“ And the winter passed aw^ay ; winter and summer both 
passed away, and they are still passing away, eveii as I 
pass away ; as the snow whirls along, and the apple bios- 
som whirls along, and the leaves fall — away I away I 
away ! and men are passing away, too 1 

“ But the daughters were still young, and little Ida was 
a rose, as fair to look upon as on the day when the archb 
tect saw her. I often seized her long, brown hair, when she 
stood in the garden by the apple-tree, musing, and not 
heeding how I strewed blossoms on her hair, and loosened 
it, while she was gazing at the red sun and the golden sky, 
through the dark underwood and the trees of the garden. 

“ Her sister was bright and slender as a lily. Joanna 
had height and deportment, but was like her mother, rather 
stiff in the stalk. She was very fond of walking through 
the great hall, where hung the portraits of her ancestors. 
The women were painted in dresses of silk and velvet, with 
a tiny little hat, embroidered with pearls, on their plaited 
hair. They were handsome women. The gentlemen were 
represented clad in steel, or in costly cloaks lined with 
squirreks skin ; they wore little ruffs, and swords at their 
sides, but not bucked to their hips. Where would J oanna’s 
picture find its place on that wall some day ? and how 
would he look, her noble lord and husband ? This is what 
she thought of, and of this she spoke softly to herself. J 
heard it, as I swept into the long hall, and turned round to 
come out again. 

“Anna Dorothea, the pale hyacinth, a child of fourteen, 
was quiet and thoughtful j her great deep blue eyes had a 


158 


Andersen’s tales. 


musing’ look, but the childlike smile stili played around liei 
lips; T was not able to blow it away, nor did I wish to do so 

“We met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in the field 
and meadow ; she gathered herbs and flowers wliich she 
knew would be useful to her father in concocting the drinks 
and drops he distilled. Waldemar Daa was arrogant and 
proud, but he was also a learned man, and knew a great 
deal. That was no secret, and many opinions were ex- 
pressed concerning it. In his chimney there was fire even 
in summer-time. He would lock the door of his room, and 
for days the fire would be poked and raked ; but of this he 
did not talk much — the forces of nature must be conquered 
in silence ; and soon he would discover the art of making 
the best thing of all — the red gold. 

“ That is why the chimney was always smoking, there- 
fore the flames crackled so frequently. Yes, I was there, 
too,” said the Wind. “ Let it go,” I sang down through 
the chimney : “ it will end in smoke, air, coals, and ashes 1 
.You will burn yourself I Hu-uh-ush ! drive away ! drive 
away 1 But Waldemar Daa did not drive it away.” 

“The splendid black horses in the stable — what became 
of them ? What became of the old gold and silver vessels 
in cupboards and chests, the cows in the fields, and the 
house and home itself? Yes, they may melt, may melt in 
the golden crucible, and yet yield no gold. 

“ Empty grew the barns and store-rooms, the Cellars and 
magazines. The servants decreased in number, and the 
mice multiplied. Then a window broke, and then another, 
and I could get in elsewhere besides at the door,” said the 
Wind. “ ‘ Where the chimney smokes, the meal is being 
cooked,’ the proverb says. But here the chimney smoked 
that devoured all the meals, for the sake of the red gold. 

• y blew through the court-yard gate like a watcliman 


WALDEMAK EAA AND HIS DAUGHTEKS. 15S 


blowing his horn,” the Wind went on, “ but no watchman 
was there. I twirled the weathercock round on the summit 
of the tower, and it creaked like the snoring of the warder, 
but no warder was there ; only mice and rats were there 
Poverty laid the tablecloth ; poverty sat in the wardrobe 
and in the larder ; the door fell olf its hinges, cracks and 
fissures made their appearance, and I went in and out at 
pleasure ; and that is how I know all about it. 

“Amid smoke and ashes, amid sorrow and sleepless 
nights, the hair and beard of the master turned gray, and 
deep furrows showed themselves around his temples ; his 
skin turned pale and yellow, as his eyes looked greedil}^ for 
the gold, the desired gold. 

“ I blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard : 
the result of his labor was debt instead of pelf. I sung 
through the burst window-panes and the yawning clefts in 
the walls. I blew into the chests of drawers belonging to 
the daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had become 
faded and threadbare from being worn over and over again. 
That was not the song that had been sung at the childrens 
cradle. The lordly life had changed to a life of penury. 
I was the only one who rejoiced aloud in that castle,” said 
the Wind. “ I snowed them up, and they say snow keeps 
people warm. They had no wood, and the forest from 
which they might have brought it was cut down. It was 
a biting frost. I rushed in through loopholes and passages, 
over gables and roofs, that I might be brisk. They were 
lying in bed because of the cold, the three high-born 
daughters ; and their father was crouching under his 
leathern coverlet. Nothing to bite, nothing to break, no 
fire on the hearth — there was a life for high-born people I 
Huh-sh, let it go I But that is what my Lord Daa could 
not do — he coul l not let it go. 


160 


Andersen’s tales. 


‘‘ ‘After winter comes spring'/ lie said. Lifter want, good 
times will come : one must not lose patience ; one must 
learn to wait ! Now my house and lands arc mortgaged, 
it is indeed high time ; and the gold will soon come. At 
Easter I’ 

“ I heard how he spoke thus, looking at a spider’s web. 
‘ Thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me persever- 
ance. Let them tear thy web, and thou wilt begin it again, 
and complete it. Let them destroy it again, and thou wilt 
resolutely begin to work again — again I That is what we 
must do, and that will repay itself at last.’ 

“It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded 
from the neighboring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice 
in the sky. The master had watched through the night in 
feverish excitement, and had been melting and cooling, dis- 
tilling and mixing. I heard him sighing like a soul in 
despair ; I heard him praying, and I noticed how he held 
his breath. The lamp was burnt out, but he did not notice 
it. I blew at the fire of coals, and it threw its red glow 
upon his ghastly white face, lighting it up with a glare, 
and his sunken eyes looked forth wildly out of their deep 
sockets — but they became larger and larger, as though 
they would burst. 

“ Look at the alchemic glass I It glows in the crucible, 
red-hot, and pure and heavy I He lifted it with a trem- 
bling hand, and cried with a trembling voice, ‘Gold ! gold !’ 

“ He was quite dizzy — I could have blown him down,” 
Sctid the Wind; “ but I only fanned the glowing coals, and 
accompanied him through the door to where his daughters 
sat shivering. His coat was powdered with ashes, and 
there were ashes in his beard and in his tangled hair. Ho 
stood straight uj), and held his costly treasure on high, in 
the brittle glass. ‘ Found, found 1 — Gold, gold !’ he shouted, 


WAL*bEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 161 


und again held aloft the glass to let it flash in the sunshine; 
but his hand trembled, and the alchemic glass fell clattering 
to the ground, and broke into a thousand pieces; and the 
last bubble of his happiness had burst I Hu-uh-ush I rush- 
ing away 1 — and I rushed away from the gold-maker’s 
house. 

Late in autumn, when the days are short, and the mist 
comes and strews cold drops upon the berries and leafless 
branches, I came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the 
air, swept the sky clear, and snapped the'diy twigs — which 
is certainly no great labor, but yet it must be done. Then 
there was another kind of sweeping clean at Waldemar 
Daa’s, in the mansion of Borreby. His enemy. Owe Rainel, 
of Basnas, was there with the mortgage of the house and 
every thing it contained in his pocket. I drummed against 
the broken window-panes, beat against the old rotten doors, 
and whistled through cracks and rifts — huh-sh I Mr. Owe 
Rainel did not like staying there. Ida and Anna Dorothea 
wept bitterly; Joanna stood pale and proud, and bit her 
thumb till it bled — but what could that avail ? Owe Rainel 
oflered to allow Waldemar Daa to remain in the mansion 
till the end of his life, but no thanks were given him for his 
offer. I listened to hear what occurred. I saw the ruined 
gentleman lift his head and throw it back prouder than ever, 
and I rushed against the house and the old lime-trees with 
such force, that one of the thickest branches broke, one 
mat was not decayed; and the branch remained lying at 
the entrance as a broom when any one wanted to sweep the 
place out ’ and a grand sweeping out there was — I thought 
it would be so. 

“ It was hard on that day to preserve one’s composure,' 
but their will was as hard as their fortune. 

L 


162 


Andersen’s tales. 


“There was nothing they could call their own except th« 
clothes they wore : yes, there was one thing more— the 
alchemist’s glass, a new one that had lately been bought, 
and hlled with what had been gathered up from the ground 
of the treasure which promised so mucli but never kept its 
promise. aldemar Oaa hid the g’lass in his bosom, and 
taking his stick in his hand, the once rich gentleman passed 
with his daughters out of the house of Borreby. I blew 
cold upon his heated cheeks, I stroked his gray beard and 
his long white hair, and I sang as well as I could — ‘ Huh 
sh I gone away I ‘gone away 1 ’ And that was the end of 
the wealth and splendor. 

“Ida walked on one side of the old man, and Anna 
Dorothea on the other. Joanna turned round at the 
entrance — why ? Fortune would not turn because she did 
80. She looked at the old walls of what had once been the 
castle of Marsk Stig, and perhaps she thought of his 
daughters : 

“ ‘ The eldest gave the youngest her hand, 

And forth they went to the far-off land.’ 

Was she thinking of this old song? Here were three of 
them, and their father was with them too. They walked 
along the road on which they had once driven in their splen- 
did carriage — they walked forth as beggars, with their 
father, and wandered out into the open field, and into a mud 
hut, which they rented for a dollar and a half a year — into 
their new house with the empty rooms and empty vessels. 
Crows and magpies fluttered above them, and cried, as if in 
contempt, ‘ Craw ! craw I out of the nest I craw I craw I’ 
as they had done in the wood at Borreby when the trees 
were felled. 

“ Daa and his daughters could not help hearing it. 1 


WALI>EMA]l DAA AND HIS DADGHTERS. 163 

blew about their ears, for what use would it be that they 
should listen ? 

‘‘ And they went to live in the mud hut on tlie open field, 
and I wandered away over moor and field, through bare 
bushes and leafless forests, to the open waters, the free 
shores, to other lands — huh-uh-ush I — away, away I year 
after year I” 

And how did W aldemar Daa and his daughters prosper ? 
The Wind tells us : 

“ The one I saw last, yes, for the last time, was Anna 
Dorothea, the pale hyacinth : then she was old and bent, for 
it was fifty years afterwards. She lived longer than the 
rost; she knew all. 

'‘Yonder on the heath, by the Jutland town of Wiborg, 
stood the fine new house of the canon, built of red bricks 
with projecting gables ; the smoke came up thickly from the 
chimney. The canon's gentle lady and her beautiful daugh- 
ters sat in the bay-window, and looked over the hawthorn 
hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. What were 
they looking at? Their glances rested upon the stork’s 
nest without, and on the hut, which was almost falling in; 
the roof consisted of moss and houseleek, in so far as a roof 
existed there at all — the stork's nest covered the greater 
part of it, and that alone was in proper condition, for it was 
kept in order by the stork himself. 

“ That is a house to be looked at, but not to be touched; 
I must deal gently with it," said the Wind. “ For the sake 
of the stork's nest the hut has been allowed to stand, though 
it was a blot upon the landscape. They did not like to 
di ivo the stork away, therefore the old shed was left stand- 
ing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it was allowed to 
fitay : she had the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was 


164 


andeesen's tales. 


it perchance her reward, because she had once interceded 
for the nest of its black brother in the forest of Borreby ? 
At that time she, the poor woman, was a young child, a pale 
hyacinth in the rich garden. She remembered all that right 
well, did Anna Dorothea. 

“ ‘ Oh I oh Yes, people can sigh like the wind moan* 
ing in the rushes and reeds, ‘ Oh I oh she sighed, “ no 
bells sounded at thy burial, Waldemar Daa 1 The poor 
schoolboys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord 
of Borreby was laid in the earth to rest I Oh, every thing 
has an end, even misery. Sister Ida became the wife of a 
peasant. That was the hardest trial that befell our father, 
that the husband of a daughter of his should be a miserable 
serf, whom the proprietor could mount on the wooden horse 
for punishment 1 I suppose he is under the ground now. 
And thou, Ida ? Alas, alas I it is not ended yet, wretch that 
I am I Grant me that I may die, kind Heaven 1^ 

“ That was Anna Dorothea’s prayer in the wretched hut 
which was left standing for the sake of the stork. 

“I took pity on the fairest of the sisters,” said the Wind. 
“ Her courage was like that of a man, and in man’s clothes 
she took service as a sailor on board of a ship. She was 
sparing of words, and of a dark countenance, but willing 
at her work. But she did not know how to climb; so I 
blew her overboard before anybody found out that she was 
a woman, and according to my thinking that was well 
done I” said the Wind. 

“ On such an Easter morning as that on which Waldemar 
Daa had fancied that he had found the red gold, I heard the 
tones of a psalm under the stork’s nest, among the crum- 
bling walls — it was Anna Dorothea’s last song. 

“There was no window, only a hole in the wall. The 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


165 


snn rose up like a mass of gold, and looked through. What 
a s)»lendor he diffused 1 Her eyes were breaking, and her 
heart was breaking — but that they would have done, even 
if the sun had not shone that morning on Anna Dorothea. 

The stork covered her hut till her death. I sang at her 
gr.'isve I” said the Wind. “ I sang at her father's grave; 
I i now where his grave is, and where hers is, and nobody 
else knows it. 

New times, changed times I The old high-road now 
runs through cultivated fields; the new road winds among 
the trim ditches, and soon the railway will come with its 
train of carriages, and rush over the graves which are for- 
gotten like the names — hu-ush I passed away, passed away I 
“ That is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. 
Tell it better, any of you, if you know how," said the Wind, 
and turned away — and he was gone. 


IB AND CHEISTINE. 

Not far from the clear stream Gudenau, in North Jutland, 
in the forest which extends by its banks and far into the 
country, a great ridge of land rises and stretches along liks 
a wall through the wood. By this ridge, westward, sta^po 
a farmhouse, surrounded by poor land; the sandy soil is 
seen through the spare rye and wheat-ears that grow upon 
it. Some years have elapsed since the time of which wo 
speak. The people who lived here cultivated the fields, and 
moreover kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen ; in fact 
they suppoi’ted themselves quite comfortably, for they had 
enough to live on if they took things as they came. Indeed, 
they could have managed to save enough to keep two 


Andersen’s tales. 


166 

horses; but, like the other peasa7its of the neigliborhood, 
tliey said, “I'he horse eats itself up” — that is to say, it eats 
as much as it earns. Jeppe-Jans cultivated his field in 
summer. In the winter he made wooden shoes; and then ho 
had an assistant, a journeyman, who understood as well as 
he himself did how to make the wooden, shoes strong, and 
light, and graceful. They carved shoes and spoons, and 
that brought in money. It would have been wronging the 
Jeppe-Janses to call them poor people. 

Little Ib, a boy seven years old, the only child of the 
i'amily, would sit by, looking at the workmen, cutting at a 
stick, and occasionally cutting his finger. But one day Ib 
succeeded so well with two pieces of wood, that they really 
looked like little wooden shoes; and these he wanted to 
give to little Christine. And who was little Christine ? She 
was the boatman’s daughter, and was graceful and delicate 
as a gentleman’s child; had she been differently dressed, no 
one would have imagined that she came out of the hut on 
the neighboring heath. There lived her father, who was a 
widower, and supported himself by carrying firewood in 
his great boat out of the forest to the estate of Silkeborg, 
with its great eel-pond and eel- weir, and sometimes even to 
the distant little town of Randers. He had no one who 
could take care of little Christine, and therefore the child 
was almost always with him in his boat, or in the forest 
among the heath plants and barberry bushes. Sometimes, 
when he had to go as far as the town, he would bring little 
Christine, who was a year younger than Ib, to stay at the 
Jeppe-Janses. 

Ib and Christine agreed very well in every particular : 
thej’- divided their bread and berries when they were hun- 
gry, they dug in the ground together for treasures, and they 
ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. And one 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


167 


day they ventured together up the high ridge, and a long 
way into the forest ; once they found a few snipes^ cgga 
there, and that was a great event for them. 

Ib had never been on the heath where Christine’s father 
lived, nor had he ever been on the river. But even this 
was to happen ; for Christine’s father once invited him to go 
with them ; and on the evening before the excursion, he fol- 
lowed the boatman over the heath to the house of the latter. 

Next morning early, the two children were sitting high 
up on the pile of firewood in the boat, eating bread and 
whistleberries. Christine’s father and his assistant pro- 
pelled the boat with staves. They had the current with 
them, and swiftly they glided down the stream, through the 
lakes it forms in its course, and which sometimes seemed 
shut in by reeds and water-plants, though there was 
always room for them to pass, and though the old trees 
bent quite forward over the water, and the old oaks bent 
down their bare branches, as if they had turned up their 
sleeves and wanted to show their knotty, naked arms. Old 
alder-trees, which the stream had washed away from the 
bank, clung with their fibrous roots to the bottom of the 
stream, and looked like little wooded islands. The water- 
lilies rocked themselves on the river. It was a splendid 
excursion ; and at last they came to the great eel-weir, 
where the water rushed through the floodgates ; and Ib 
and Christine thought this was beautiful to behold. 

In those days there was no manufactory there, nor was 
there any town ; only the old great farmyard, with its 
scanty fields, with few servants and a few head of cattle, 
could be seen there ; and the rushing of the water through 
the weir, and the cry of the wild ducks, were the only 
signs of life in Silkeborg. After the firewood had been un- 
loa^ied, the father of Christine bought a whole bundle of 


Jt68 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


eels and a slaughtered sucking-pig, and all was put into a 
basket and placed in the stern of the boat. Then they went 
back again up the stream ; but the wind was favorable, and 
when the sails were hoisted it was as good as if two horses 
had been harnessed to the boat. 

When they had arrived at a point in the stream where 
the assistant boatman dwelt, a little way from the bank, the 
boat was moored, and the two men landed, after exhorting 
the children to sit still. But the children did not do that ; 
or at least they obeyed only for a very short time. They 
must be peeping into the basket in which the eels and the 
sucking-pig had been placed, and they must needs pull the 
sucking-pig out, and take it into their hands, and feel and 
touch it all over ; and as both wanted to hold it at the same 
time, it came to pass that they let it fall into the water, and 
the sucking-pig drifted away with the stream — and here 
was a terrible event I 

Ib jumped ashore, and ran a little distance along the 
bank, and Christine sprang after him. 

“Take me with you I” she cried. 

And in a few minutes they were deep in the thicket, and 
could no longer see either the boat or the bank. They 
ran on a little further, and then Christine fell down on tha 
ground and began to cry ; but Ib picked her up. 

“ Follow me I’' he cried. “ Yonder lies the house.” 

But the house was not yonder. They wandered on and 
on, over the dry, rustling, last year’s leaves, and over fallen 
branches that crackled beneath their feet. Soon they 
heard a loud, piercing scream. They stood still and list- 
ened, and presently the scream of an eagle sounded 
through the wood. It was an ugly scream, and they were 
frightened at it ; but before them, in the thick wood, the 
most beautiful blueberries grew in wonderful profusion. 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


169 


They were so inviting, that the children could not do other- 
wise than stop ; and they lingered for some time, eating 
the blueberries till they had quite blue mouths and blue 
cheeks. Now again they heard the cry they had heard 
lv:‘fore. 

“We shall get into trouble about the pig,” said Chris- 
tine. 

“ Come, let us go to our house,” said Ib ; “ it is here in 
the wood.” 

And they went forward. They presently came to a 
wood, but it did not lead them home ; and darkness came 
on, and they were afraid. The wonderful stillness that 
reigned around was interrupted now and then by the shrill 
cries of the great horrid owl and of the birds that were 
strange to them. At last they both lost themselves in a 
thicket. Christine cried, and Ib cried too ; and after they 
• had bemoaned themselves for a time, they threw themselves 
down on the dry leaves, and went fast asleep. 

The sun was high in the heavens when the two children 
awoke. They were cold ; but in the neighborhood of this 
resting-place, on the hill, the sun shone through the trees, 
and there they thought they would warm themselves ; and 
from there Ib fancied they would be able to see his pa- 
rents’ house. But they were far away from the house in 
<luestion, in quite another part of the forest. They clam- 
bered to the top of the rising ground, and found themselves 
on the summit of a slope running down to the margin of 
a transparent lake. They could see fish ■ err! .'.: .umbers 
in the pure water illumined by the ‘ 

tacle was quite a sudden surpri: , but . . c o •re- 
side them grew a nut-bush C' 'ith the finest num 

and now they picked the nir cracked them, and ate 

the delicate young kerneh n had only just become 


170 


Andersen’s tales. 


perfect. But there was another surprise and another fright 
in store for them. Out of the thicket stepped a tall old 
woman ; her face was quite brown, and her hair was deep 
black and shining. The whites of her eyes gleamed like 
a negro’s ; on her back she carried a bundle, and in her 
hand she bore a knotted stick. She was a gipsy. The 
children did not at once understand what she said. She 
brought three nuts out of her pocket, and told them that 
in these nuts the most beautiful, the loveliest things were 
hidden ; for they were wishing-nuts. 

Ib looked at her, and she seemed so friendly, that he 
plucked up courage, and asked her if she would give him 
the nuts ; and the woman gave them to him, and gathered 
some more for herself, a whole pocketful, from the nut-bush. 

And Ib and Christine looked at the wishing-nuts with 
great eyes. 

“ Is there a carriage with a pair of horses in this nut 
he asked. 

“ Yes, there^s a golden carriage with two horses," an- 
swered the woman. 

‘‘ Then give me the nut,” said little Christine. 

And Ib gave it to her, and the strange woman tied it In 
her pocket-handkerchief for her. 

“ Is there in this nut a pretty little neckerchief, like the 
one Christine wears round her neck ?” inquired Ib. 

‘‘ There are ten neckerchiefs in it,” answered the woman. 

There are beautiful dresses in it, and stockings, and a hat 
with a v'^'” 

" . . . ■'•t one too,” cried little Christine. 

. .. , 4.0 gave hex - 3ond nut also. The third was a 

Ae black thing. 

“ That one you can kin,’ ; id Christine ; “ and it is a 
pretty one too.” 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


171 


“ What is in it ?” inquired Ib. 

“ The best of all things for you,” replied the gipsy-woman 

And Ib held the nut very tight. The woman promised to 
lead the children into the right path, so that they might find 
their way home; and now they went forward, certainly in 
']uite a different direction from the path they should have 
followed. But that is no reason why we should suspect the 
gipsy-woman of wanting to steal the children. In the wild 
wood-path they met the forest bailiff, who knew Ib; and by 
his help, Ib and Christine both arrived at home, where their 
friends had been very anxious about them. They were par- 
doned and forgiven, although they had indeed both deserved 

to get into trouble;” firstly, because they had let the suck- 
ing-pig fall into the water, and secondly, because they had 
run away. 

Christine was taken back to her father on the heath, and 
Ib remained in the farmhouse on the margin of the wood by 
the great ridge. The first thing he did in the evening was 
to bring forth out of his pocket the little black nut, in 
which the best thing of all” was said to be inclosed. He 
placed it carefully in the crack of the door, and then shut 
the do.or so as to break the nut; but there was not much 
kernel in it. The nut looked as if it were filled with tobacco 
or black rich earth; it was what we call hollow, or worm- 
eaten. 

“ Yes, thaBs exactly what I thought,” said Ib. “ How 
could the very best thing be contained in this little nut ? 
And Christine will get just as little out of her two nuts, 
and will have neither fine clothes nor the golden carriage.” 

And winter came on, and the new year began; indeed, 
several years went by. 

Ib was at last to be confirmed; and for that reason he 


ir-2 


Andersen’s tales. 


went during a whole winter to the clergyman, far away in 
the nearest village, to prepare. About this time the boat- 
man one day visited lb’s parents, and told them that Chris- 
tine was now going into service, and that she had been really 
fortunate in getting a remarkably good place, and falling 
into worthy hands. 

“Only think,” he said; “she is going to the rich inn- 
keeper’s, in the inn at Herning, far towards the west, many 
miles from here. She is to assist the hostess in keeping the 
house; and afterwards, if she takes to it well, and stays to 
be confirmed there, the people are going to adopt her as 
their own daughter.” 

And Ib and Christine took leave of one another. People 
called them “ the betrothed ;” and at parting the girl 
showed Ib that she had still the two nuts which he had 
given her long ago, during their wanderings in the forest; 
and she told him, moreover, that in a drawer she had care- 
fully kept the little wooden shoes which he had carved as a 
present for her in their childish days. And thereupon they 
parted. 

Ib was confirmed. But he remained in his mother’s 
house, for he had become a clever maker of wooden shoes, 
and in summer he looked after the field. He did it all alone, 
for his mother kept no farm-servant, and his father had died 
long ago. 

Only seldom he got news of Christine from some passing 
postillion or eel-fisher. But she was well off at the rich 
innkeeper’s; and after she had been confirmed, she wrote a 
letter to her father, and sent a kind message to Ib and his 
motlier; and in the letter there Was mention made of cer- 
tain linen garments and a fine new gown, which Christine 
had received as a present from her employers. This was 
certainly good news. 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


173 


Next spring there was a knock one day at the door of 
our lb’s old mother, and behold, the boatman and Christine 
stepped into tlie room. She had come on a visit to spend a 
day : a carriage had to come from the Herning Inn to the 
next village, and she had taken the opportunity to see her 
friends once again. She looked as handsome as a real lady, 
and she had a pretty gown on, which had been well sewn, 
and made expressly for her. There she stood, in grand 
array, and Ib was in his working clothes. He could not 
utter a word : he certainly seized her hand, and held it fast 
in his own, and was heartily glad; but he could not get his 
tongue to obey him. Christine was not embarrassed, how- 
ever, for she went on talking and talking, and, moreover, 
kissed Ib on his mouth in the heartiest manner. 

“Did you know me again directly, Ib she asked; but 
even afterwards, when they were left quite by themselves, 
and he stood there still holding her hand in his, he could 
only say : 

“You look quite like a real lady, and I am so uncouth. 
How often I have thought of you, Christine, and of the old 
times !” 

And arm in arm they sauntered up the great ridge, and 
looked across the stream towards the heath, towards the 
great hills overgrown with bloom. It was perfectly silent; 
but by the time they parted it had grown quite clear to him 
that Christine must be his wife. Had they not, even in their 
childhood, been called the betrothed pair? To him they 
seemed to be really engaged to each other, though neither 
of them had spoken a word on the subject. Only for a few 
more hours could they remain together, for Christine was 
obliged to go back into the next village, from whence the 
carriage was to start early next morning for Herning. Her 
father and Ib escorted her as far as the village. It was 


174 


axdersen’s tales. 


a fair moonlight evening, and when they reached their deB« 
tination, and Ib still held Christine^s hand in his own, he 
could not make up his mind to let her go. His eyes bn'ght- 
ened, but still the words came halting over bis lips. Yet 
they came from the depths of his heart, when he said : 

“ If you have not become too grand, Christine, and if yon 
can make up your mind to live with me in my mother’s 
house as my wife, we must become a wedded pair some day; 
but we can wait awhile yet.” 

“Yes, let us wait for a time, Ib,” she replied; and he 
kissed her lips. “ I confide in you, Ib,” said Christine; 
“ and I think that I love you — but I will sleep upon it.” 

And with that they parted. And on the way home Ib 
told the boatman that he and Christine were as good as 
betrothed; and the boatman declared he had always ex- 
pected it would turn out so; and he went home with Ib, 
and remained that night in the young man’s house; but 
nothing further was said of the betrothal. 

A year passed by, in the course of which two letters 
were exchanged between Ib and Christine. The signature 
was prefaced by the words, “ Faithful till death 1” One day 
the boatman came in to Ib, and brought him a greeting from 
Christine. What he had further to say was brought out in 
somewhat hesitating fashion, but it was to the effect that 
Chi*istine was almost more than prosperous, for she was a 
pretty girl, courted and loved. The son of the host had 
been home on a visit; he was employed in the office of some 
great institution in Copenhagen; and he was very much 
pleased with Christine, and she had taken a fancy to him : 
his parents were ready to give their consent, but Christine 
was very anxious to retain lb’s good opinion; “and so she 
had thought of refusing this great piece of good fortune,’ 
said the boatman. 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


175 


At first Ib said not a word; but lie became as white as 
the wall, and slightly shook his head. Then he said 
slowly ; 

“ Christine must not refuse this advantageous offer." 

“ Then do you write a few words to her,” said the boat* 
man. 

And Ib sat down to write; but he could not manage it 
well : the words would not come as he wished them; and 
first he altered, and then he tore up the page; but the next 
TQorning a letter lay ready to be sent to Christine, and it 
contained the following words : 


I have read the letter you have seat to your father, and gather from It 
that you are prospering in all things, and that there is a prospect of higher 
fortune for you. Ask yoii^* heart, Christine, and ponder well the fate that 
awaits you, if you take me for your husband ; what I possess is but little. 
Do not think of me, or my position, but think of your own welfare. You 
are bound to me by no promise, and if in your heart you have given me 
one, I release you from it. May all treasures of happiness be poured out 
upon yon, Christine. Heaven will console me in its own good time. 

“ Ever your sincere friend, 

« Ib.” 


And the letter was dispatched, and Christine duly 
received it. 

In the course of that November her banns were published 
in the church on the heath, and in Copenhagen, where her 
bridegroom lived; and to Copenhagen she proceeded, under 
the protection of her future mother-in-law, because the 
bridegroom could not undertake the journey into J utland 
on account of his various occupations. On the journey, 
Christine met her father in a certain village; and here the 
two took leave of one another. A few words were men- 
tioned concerning this fact, but Ib made no remark upon it : 
his mother said he had growm very silent of late; indeed, 


176 


andeesen’s tales. 


he had become very pensive, and thus the three nuts came 
into his mind which the gipsy-woman had given him long 
ago, and of which he had given two to Christine. Yes, it 
seemed right — they were wishing-nuts, and in one of thcjra 
lay a golden carriage with two horses, and in the other very 
elegant clothes ; all those luxuries would now be Ohristine^s 
in the capital. Her part had thus come true. And to him, 
Ib, the nut had offered only black earth. The gipsy-woman 
had said, this was “the best of all for him.” Yes, it was 
right, that also was coming true. The black earth was the 
best for him. Now he understood clearly what had been 
the woman’s meaning. In the black earth, in the dark 
grave, would be the best happiness for him. 

And once again years passed by, not very many, but they 
seemed long years to Ib. The old innkeeper and his wife 
died, one after the other; the whole of their property, many 
thousands of dollars, came to the son. Yes, now Christine 
could have the golden carriage, and plenty of fine clothes. 

During the two long years that followed no letter came 
from Christine; and when her father at length received one 
from her, it was not written in prosperity, by any means. 
Poor Christine I neither she nor her husband had understood 
how to keep the money together; and there seemed to be 
no blessing with it, because they had not sought it. 

And again the weather bloomed and faded. The winter 
had swept for many years across the heath, and over the 
ridge beneath which Ib dwelt, sheltered from the rough 
winds. The spring sun shone bright, and Ib guided the 
plough across his field, when one day it glided over what 
ai)peared to be a fire-stone. Something like a great black 
ship came out of the ground, and when Ib took it up it 
proved to be a piece of metal; and the place from which 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


177 


the plough had cut the stone gleamed brightly with ore. It 
was a great golden armlet of ancient workmanship that 
•he had found. He had disturbed a “Hun’s Grave,” and 
discovered the costly treasure buried in it. Ib showed what 
he had found to the clergyman, who explained its value to 
him, and then he betook himself to the local judges, who 
reported the discovery to the keeper of the museum, and 
recommended Ib to deliver up the treasure in person. 

“ You have found in the earth the best thing you could 
find,” said the judge. 

“ The best thing I” thought Ib. “ The very best thing 
for me, and found in the earth I Well, if that is the best, 
the gipsy-woman was correct in what she prophesied to me.” 

So Ib travelled with the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Co- 
penhagen. To him, who had but once or twice passed 
beyond the river that rolled by his home, this seemed like 
a voyage across the ocean. And he arrived in Copenhagen. 

The value of the gold he had found was paid over to 
him ; it was a large sum — six hundred dollars. And Ib of 
the heath wandered about in the great capital. 

On the day on which he had settled to go back with the 
captain, Ib lost his way in the streets, and took quite a dif- 
ferent direction from the one he intended to follow. He 
had wandered into the suburb of Christianhaven, into a 
poor little street. Not a human being was to be seen. At 
last a very little girl came out of one of the wretched 
houses. Ib inquired of the little one the way to the street 
which he wanted ; but she looked shyly at him, and began 
to cry bitterly. He asked her what ailed her, but could 
not understand what she said in reply. But as they went 
along the street together, they passed beneath the light of 
a lamp ; and when the light fell on the girl’s face, he felt a 
strange and sharp emotion, for Christine stood bodily before 


178 


Andersen’s tales. 


him, just as he remembered her from the days of his ohild« 
hood. 

And he went with the little maiden into the wretched 
house, and ascended the narrow, crazy staircase, which led 
to a little attic chamber in the roof. The air in tliis cham- 
ber was heavy and almost suffocating : no light was burn- 
ing ; but there was heavy sighing and moaning in one 
corner. Ib struck a light with the help of a match. It was 
the mother of the child who lay sigliing on the miserable 
bed. 

“ Can I be of any service to you V’ asked Ib. “ This little 
girl has brought me up here, but I am a stranger in this 
cit 3 ^ Are there no neighbors or friends whom I could call 
to you ?” And he raised the sick womaiTs head and 
smoothed her pillow. 

It was Christine of the heath 1 

For years her name had not been mentioned yonder, for 
the mention of her would have disturbed lb’s peace of 
mind, and rumor had told nothing good concerning her. 
The wealth v/hich her husband had inherited from his pa- 
rents had made him proud and arrogant. He had given up 
his certain appointment, had travelled for half a year in 
foreign lands, and on his return had incurred debts, and 
yet lived in an expensive fashion. His carriage had bent 
over more and more, so to speak, until at last it turned 
over completely. The many merry companions and table- 
friends he had entertained declared it served him right, for 
he had kept house like a madman ; and one morning his 
corpse was found in the canal. 

The icy hand of death was already on Christine. Her 
youngest child, only a few weeks old, expected in prosperity 
and born in misery, was already in its grave; and it had 
come to this with Christine herself, that she lay, sicl: tc 


IB AND CHRISTINE. 


179 


death and forsaken, in a miserable room, amid a poveidj 
that she might well have borne in her childish days, but 
which noAV oppressed her painfully, since she had been ac- 
customed to better things. It was her eldest child, also a 
little Christine, that here suffered hunger and poverty with 
her, and whom Ib had no\y brought home. 

“I am unhappy at the thought of dying and leaving the 
poor child here alone,” she said. “ Ah, what is to become 
of tlie poor thing ?” And not a word more could she utter. 

And Ib brought out another match, and lighted up a 
piece of candle he found in the room, and the flame illumined 
the wretched dwelling. And Ib looked at the little girl, 
and thought how Christine had looked when she was 
young ; and he felt that for her sake he would be fond of 
this child, which was as yet a stranger to him. The dying 
woman gazed at him, and her eyes opened wider and wider 
— did she recognize him ? He never knew, for no further 
word passed over her lips. 

And it was in the forest by the river Gudenau, in the 
region of the heath. The air was thick and dark, and 
there were no blossoms on the heath plant ; but the autumn 
tempests whirled the yellow leaves from the wood into the 
stream, and out over the heath towards the hut of the 
boatman, in which strangers now dwelt ; but beneath tlie 
ridge, safe beneath the protection of the high trees, stood 
the little farm, trimly whitewashed and painted, and within 
it the turf blazed up cheerily in the chimney ; for withiu 
was sunlight, the beaming sunlight of a child's two eyes ; 
and tlie tones of the spring-birds sounded in the words that 
came from the child's rosy lips ; she sat on lb's knee, and 
Ib was to her both father and mother, for her own parents 
were dead, and had vanished from her as a dream vanisheg 


180 


Andersen’s tales. 


alike from children and grown men. Ib sat in the pretty 
neat house, for he was a prosperous man, while the mother 
of the little girl rested in the churchyard at Copenhagen, 
where she had died in poverty. 

Ib had money, and was said to have provided for the 
uture. He had won gold out of the black earth, and he 
had a Christine for his own, after all. 


OLE, THE TOWER-KEEPEE. 

In the world it’s always going up and down — and now 
I can’t go up any higher I” So said Ole, the tower-keeper. 
“ Most people have to try both the ups and downs ; and, 
rightly considered, we all get to be watchmen at last, and 
look down upon life from a height.” 

Such was the speech of Ole, my friend, the old tower- 
keeper, a strange, talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak 
out every thing that came into his head, and who, for all 
that, had many a serious thought deep in his heart. Yes, 
he was the child of respectable people, and there were even 
some who said that he was the son of a privy-councillor, or 
that he might have been ; he had studied, too, and had been 
assistant teacher and deputy clerk ; but of what service 
was all that to him ? In those days he lived in the clerk’s 
house, and was to have every thing in the honse, to be al 
freequarters, as the saying is ; but he was still, so to speak, 
a fine young gentleman. He wanted to have his boots 
cleaned with pattint blacking, and the clerk could only 
afford ordinary grease ; and upon that point they split — one 
spoke of stinginess, the other of vanity, and the blacking 


OLE, THE TOWEE-EEEPER. 


181 


became the black cause of enmity between them, and at 
last they parted. 

This is what he demanded of the world in general — 
namely, patent blacking — and he got nothing but grease. 
Accordingly he at last drew back from all men, and became 
a hermit ; but the church tower is the only place in a great 
city where hermitage, office, and bread can be found to' 
gether. So he betook himself up thither, and smoked his 
pipe as he made his solitary rounds. He looked upward 
and downward, and had his own thoughts, and told in his 
way of what he read in books and in himself. I often lent 
him books, good books ; and you may know a man by the 
company he keeps. He loved neither the English governess- 
novels, nor the French ones, which he called a mixture of 
empty wind and raisin-stalks : he wanted biographies and 
descriptions of the wonders of the world. I visited him at 
least once a year, generally directly after New Year’s day, 
and then he always spoke of this and that which the change 
of the year had put into his head. 

I will tell the story of three of these visits, and will re- 
produce his own words whenever I can remember them. 

First Visit. 

Among the books which I had lately lent Ole was one 
which had greatly rejoiced and occupied him. It was a 
geological book, containing an account of the boulders. 

“ Yes, they’re rare old fellows, those boulders !” he said ; 

and to think that we should pass them without noticing 
them I And over the street pavement, the paving-stones, 
those fragments of the oldest remains of antiquity, one 
walks without ever thinking about them. I have done the 
very thing myself. But now I look respectfully at eveiy 


182 


Andersen's tales. 


.paving-stone. Many thanks for the book ! It lias filled me 
with thought, and has made me long to read more on the 
subject. The romance of the earth is, after all, the most 
wonderful of all romances. It’s a pity one can’t read the 
first volume of it, because they’re written in a language 
that we don’t understand. One must read in the different 
strata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. Yes, 
it is a romance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have 
our place in it. We grope and ferret about, and yet remain 
where we are, but the ball keeps turning, without emptying 
the ocean over us; the clod on which we move about holds, 
and does not let us through. And then it’s a story that has 
been acting for thousands upon thousands of years, and is 
still going on. My best thanks for the book about the 
Doulders. Those are fellows indeed I they could tell us 
something worth hearing, if they only knew how to talk. 
£t’s really a pleasure, now and then, to become a mere no- 
thing, especially when a man is as highly placed as I am. 
And then to think that we all, even with patent lacquer, arc 
nothing more than insects of a moment on that anthill the 
earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, 
places and offices ! One feels quite a novice beside these 
venerable million-year-old boulders. On New Year’s eve I 
was reading the book, and had lost myself in it sc com- 
pletely, that I forgot my usual New-Year’s diversion, 
fxamely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, you don’t know 
what that is I 

“ The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough 
known — that journey is taken on St. John’s eve, to the 
Brocken ; but we have a wild journey also, which is na^ 
tional and modern, and that is the journey to Amack on 
the night of the New Year. All indifferent poets and poet- 
ssses, musicians, newspaper writers and artistic notabilities, 


OLE, THE TOWER-KEEEEK. 183 

1 mean tl.ose who are no good, ride in the New Year’s night 
through the air to Amack. They sit backwards on their 
painting brushes or quill-pens, for steel pens won’t bear 
them, they’re too stiff. As I told you, I see that every New 
Year’s night, and could mention the majority of the riders 
by name, but I should not like to draw their enmity upon 
myself, fur they don’t like people to talk about their ride to 
Amack on quili-pens. I’ve a kind of niece, who is a fish- 
wife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable 
newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they 
use, and she has herself been at Amack as an invited 
guest; but she was carried out thither, for she does not 
own a quill-pen, nor can she ride. She has told me all 
about it. Half of what she said is not true, but the other 
half gives us information enough. When she was out there, 
the festivities began with a song : each of the guests had 
written his own song, for he thought that the best, and it 
was all one, all the same melody. Then those came march- 
ing up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths. 
There were ringing bells that sang alternately; and then 
came the little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family 
circle ; and acquaintance was made with those who write 
without putting their names, which here means as much as 
using grease instead of patent blacking; and then there was the 
beadle with his boy, and the boy was the worst off, for in gene- 
ral he gets no notice taken of him ; then, too, there was the 
good street-sweeper with his cart, who turns over the dust- 
bin, and calls it “ good, very good, remarkably good.” And 
in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere 
meeting of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt- 
neap at Amack a stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great 
mushroom, a perfect roof, which formed a sort of warehouse 
fur the worthy company, for in it hung every thing they 


184 


Andersen’s tales. 


had given to the world during tlie Old Year. Out of the 
tree poured sparks, like flames of fire; these were ideas and 
thoughts, borrowed from others, which the}" had used, and 
which now got free and rushed away like so many fire- 
works. They played at ‘ the stick burns,’ and the young 
poets played at ‘ heart-burns,’ and the witlings played off 
their jests, and the jests rolled away with a thundering 
sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against 
the doors. ‘ It was very amusing !’ my niece said ; 
in fact, she said many things that were very malicious but 
very amusing, but I won’t mention them, for a man must 
be good-natured and not a carping critic. But you will 
easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of 
the journey to Amack, as I know them, it’s quite natural 
that on the New Year’s night one should look out to see 
the wild chase go by. If in the New Year I miss certain 
persons who used to be there, I am sure to notice others 
who are new arrivals ; but this year I omitted taking my 
look at the guests. I bowled away on the boulders, rolled 
back through millions of years, and saw the stones break 
loose high up in the North, saw them drifting about on ice- 
bergs, long before Noah’s ark was constructed, saw them 
sink down to the bottom of the sea, and reappear with a 
sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the flood and 
said, ‘ This shall be Zealand 1’ I saw them become the 
dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then 
become the seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, 
until with their axes they cut their Eunic signs into a few 
of these stones, which then came into the calendar of time. 
But, as for me, I had gone quite beyond all lapse of time, 
and had become a cipher and a nothing. Then three or 
four beautiful falling-stars came down, which cleared the 
air, and gave my thoughts another direction. You know 


OLE, THE TOWER-KEEPER 


185 


what a falling-star is, do you not ? The learned men are 
not all clear about it. I have my own ideas about shooting* 
stars, as the common people in many parts call them, and 
my idea is this : How often are silent thanksgivings offered 
up for one who has done a good and noble action I The 
thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all 
that. I think these are caught up, and the sunbeams bring 
the silent, hidden thankfulness over the head of the bene* 
factor; and if it be a whole people that has been expressing 
its gratitude through a long lapse of time, the thankfulness 
appears as a nosegay of flowers, and at length falls in the 
form of a shooting-star upon the good man’s grave. I am 
always very much pleased when I see a shooting-star, 
especially in the New Year’s night, and then find out for 
whom the gift of gratitude was intended. Lately a gleam- 
ing star fell in the southwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving 
to many, many I ‘ For whom was that star intended V 
thought I. It fell, no doubt, on the hill by the Bay of 
Flensberg, where the Hanebrog waves over the graves of 
Schleppegrell, Laslbes, and their comrades. One star also 
fell in the midst of the land, fell upon Soro, a flower on the 
grave of Holberg, the thanks of the year from a great 
many — thanks for his charming plays. 

“ It is a great and a pleasant thought to know that a 
shooting-star falls upon our graves ; on mine certainly none 
will fall — no sunbeam brings thanks to me, for here there 
is nothing worthy of thanks. J shall not get the patent 
lacquer,” said Ole ; “ for my fate on earth is only grease, 
after all.” 

Second Visit. 

It was New Year’s day, and I went up on the tower. 
Ole spoke of the toasts that were drunk on the transition 


186 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


from the old year into the new, from one grave into Ihe 
other, as he said. And he told me a story about the glasses, 
and this story had a very deep meaning. It was this : 

“ When on the New Yearns night the clock strikes twelve, 
the people at the table rise up, with full glasses in their 
hands, and drain these glasses, and drink success to the 
New Year. They begin the year with the glass in their 
hands; that is a good beginning for topers. They begin the 
New Year by going to bed, and that’s a good beginning for 
drones. Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, 
and the glass likewise. Do you know what dwells in the 
glass ?” asked Ole. “ I will tell you — there dwells in the 
glass, first, health, and then pleasure, then the most com- 
plete sensual delight : and misfortune and the bitterest woe 
dwell in the glass also. Now suppose we count the glasses 
— of course I count the different degrees in the glasses for 
different people. 

“You see, the glass, that’s the glass of health, and in 
that the herb of health is found growing ; put it up on the 
beam in the ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be 
sitting in the arbor of health. 

“ If you take the second glass — from this a little bird soars 
upwards, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man 
may listen to his song and perhaps join in ‘Fair is life I no 
downcast looks I Take courage and march onward I’ 

“ Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin who 
cannot certainly be called an angel-child, for there is gob- 
lin blood in his veins, and lie has the spirit of a goblin ; not 
wishing to hurt or harm you, indeed, but very ready to 
play off tricks upon you. He’ll sit at your ear and whisper 
merry thoughts fo you ; lie’ll creep into your heart and 
warm you, so that you grow very merry and become a wit, 
BO far as the wits of the others can judge. 


OLE, THE TOWER-KEEPEE. 


187 


In the fow'ih glass is neither lierb, bird, nor urchin : iu 
that glass is the pause drawn by reason, and one may never 
go beyond that sign, 

“ Take the Jifth glass, and you will weep at yourself, yon 
will feel such a deep emotion ; or it will affect you in a 
different way. Out of the glass there will spring with a 
bang Prince Carnival, nine times and extravagantly mei'ry : 
he’ll draw you away with him, you’ll forget your dignity, 
if you have any, and you’ll forget more than you should or 
ought to forget. All is dance, song, and sound ; the 
masks will carry you away with them, and the daughters 
of vanity, clad in silk and satin, will come with loose hair 
and alluring charms : but tear yourself away if you can I 

“ The sixth glass ! Yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the 
form of a little, well-dressed, attractive and very fascinating 
man, who thoroughly understands you, agrees with you in 
every thing, and becomes quite a second self to you. He 
has a lantern with him, to give you light as he accom- 
panies you home. There is an old legend about a saint 
who was allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, 
and who accordingly chose drunkenness, which appeared to 
him the least, but which led him to commit all the other 
six. The man’s blood is mingled with that of the demon— 
it is the sixth glass, and with that the germ of all evil 
shoots up within us ; and each one grows up with a 
strength like that of the grains of mustard-seed, and shoots 
up into a tree, and spreads over the whole world ; and most 
people have no choice but to go into the oven, to be recast 
in a new form. 

“ That’s the history of the glasses,” said the tower- 
keeper Ole, “ and it can be told with lacquer or only with 
grease ; but I give it you with both 1” 


188 


ANDEliSEN'S TALES. 


Third Visit. 

On this occasion I chose the general “ moving-day ^ for 
my visit to Ole, for on that day it is any thing but agree- 
able down in the streets in the town ; for they are full of 
sweepings, shreds, and remnants of all sorts, to say 
nothing of the cast-off bed straw in which one has to wade 
about. But this time I happened to see two children play- 
ing ill this wilderness of sweepings. They were playing 
at “ going to bed,” for the occasion seemed especially favor- 
able for this sport : they crept under the straw, and drew 
an old bit of ragged curtain over themselves by way of cov 
erlet. “ It was splendid !” they said ; but it was a little 
too strong for me, and besides, I was obliged to mount up 
on my visit. 

“ It’s moving-day to-day,” he said ; “ streets and houses 
are like a dust-bin, a large dust-bin ; but I’m content with 
a cart-load. I may get something good out of that, and I 
really did get something good out of it, once. Shortly after 
Christmas I was going up the street ; it was rough 
weather, wet and dirty ; the right kind of weather to 
catch cold in. The dustman was there with his cart, which 
was full, and looked like a sample of streets on moving- 
day. At the back of the cart stood a fir-tree, quite green 
still, and with tinsel on its twigs : it had been used on 
Christmas-eve, and now it was thrown out into the street, 
and the dustman had stood it up at the back of his cart. 
It was droll to look at, or you may say it was mournful — 
all depends on what you think of when you see it ; and I 
thought about it, and thought this and that of many things 
that were in the cart : or I might have done so, and that 
comes to the same thing. There was an old lady’s glove 
too • I wonder what that was thinking of ? Shall I tell 


OLE. THE TOWER-KEEPER. 


180 


you ? The glove was lying there, pointing with its little 
finger at the tree. ‘ Pm sorry for the tree,^ it thought ? 
* and I was also at the feast, where the chandeliers glit* 
tered. My life was, so to speak, a ball-night : a pressure 
of the hand, and I burst I My memory keeps dwelling 
upon that, and I have really nothing else to live for !’ Tiiis 
is what the glove thought, or what it might have thought. 
‘ ThaPs a stupid affair with yonder fir-tree,^ said the pot- 
sherds. You see potsherds think every thing is stupid. 
‘ When one is in the dust-cart,^ they said, ‘ one ought not to 
give one’s self airs and wear tinsel. I know that I have 
been useful in the world, far more useful than such a green 
stick.’ That was a view that might be taken, and I don’t 
think it quite a peculiar one ; but for all that the fir-tree 
looked very well : it was like a little poetry in the dust- 
heap ; and truly there is dust enough in the streets on 
moving-day. The way is difficult and troublesome then, 
and I feel obliged to run away out of the confusion ; or if 
I am on the tower, I stay there and look down, and it is 
amusing enough. 

“ There are the good people below, playing at * changing 
houses.’ They toil and tug away with their goods and 
chattels, and the household goblin sits in an old tub and 
moves with them ; all the little griefs of the lodging and 
the family, and the real cares and sorrows, move with them 
out of the old dwelling into the new ; and what gain is 
there for them or for us in the whole affair ? Yes, there 
was written long ago the good old maxim : ‘ Think on the 
great moving-day of death I’ That is a serious thought ; I 
hope it is not disagreeable to you that I should have 
touched upon it ? Death is the most certain messenger 
after all, in spite of his various occupations. Yes, Death 
is the omnibus conductor, and he is the passport writer, and 


190 


ANDEIISEN’S TALES. 


he countersigns our service-book, and be is director of the 
savings-bank of life. Do you understand me ? All the 
deeds of our life, the great and the little alike, we put into 
this savings-bank ; and when death calls with his omnibus, 
and we have to step in, and drive with him into the land 
of eternity, then on the frontier he guves us our service-book 
as a pass. As a provision for the journey, he takes this or 
that good deed we have done, and lets it accompany us ; 
and this may be very pleasant or very terrific. Nobody 
has ever escaped this omnibus journey : there is certainly 
a talk about one who was not allowed to go — they call him 
the Wandering Jew : he has to ride behind the omnibus. 
If he had been allowed to get in, he would have escaped 
the clutches of the poets. 

“ Just cast your mind’s eye into that great omnibus. 
The society is mixed, for king and beggar, genius and idiot, 
sit side by side : they must go without their property and 
money ; they have only the service-book and the gift out 
of the savings-bank with them. But which of our deeds is 
selected and given to us ? Perhaps quite a little one, one 
that we have forgotten, but which has been recorded — 
small as a pea, but the pea can send out a blooming shoot. 
The poor bumpkin, who sat on a low stool in the corner, 
and was jeered at and flouted, will perhaps have his worn- 
out stool given him as a provision ; and the stool may be- 
come a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then as a 
throne, gleaming like gold, and blooming as an arbor. Ho 
who always lounged about, and drank the spiced draught 
of pleasure, that he might forget the wild things he had 
done here, will have his barrel given to him on the journey, 
and will have to drink from it as they go on ; and the 
drink is bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure, 
and all good and noble feelings are awakened, and he sees 


OLE, THE TOWEH-KEEPEE. 


191 


and feels what in life he conld not or would not sec ; and 
then he has within him the punishment, the gnawing xcoTm^ 
which will not die through time incalculable. If on the 
glasses there stood written 'oblivion,^ on the barrel 're- 
membrance^ is inscribed. 

“ When I read a good book, an historical work, I always 
think at last of the poetry of what I am reading, and of 
the omnibus of death, and wonder which of the hero's deeds 
Death took out of the savings-bank for him, and what 
provisions he got on the journey into eternity. There was 
once a French king — I have forgotten his name, for the 
names of good people are sometimes forgotten, even by 
me, but it will come back some day — there was a king 
who, during a famine, became the benefactor of his people ; 
and the people raised to his memory a monument of snow, 
with the inscription, ‘ Quicker than this melts didst thou 
bring help 1' I fancy that Death, looking back upon the 
monument, gave him a single snow-flake as provision, a 
snow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his 
royal head, like a white butterfly, into the land of eteimity. 
Thus, too, there was a Louis XI. — I have remembered his 
name, for one remembers what is bad — a trait of him often 
comes into my thoughts, and I wish one could saj the 
story is not true. He had his high lord-constable executed, 
and he could execute him, right or wrong ; but he had the 
innocent children of the constable, one seven and the other 
eight years old, placed under the scafibld so that the warm 
blood of their father spurted over them ; and then he had 
them sent to the Bastile, and shut up in iron cages, where 
not even a coverlet was given them to protect them from 
the cold. And King Louis sent the executioner to them 
every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head of 
each, that they might not be too comfortable ; and the 


193 


Andersen’s tales. 


elder of the boys said, ‘ M}'- mother would die of grief if 
she knew that my younger brother had to suffer so cru- 
elly ; therefore pull out two of my teeth, and spare him.’ 
The tears came into the hangman’s eyes, but the king’s 
will was stronger than the tears ; and every week two 
little teeth were brought to him on a silver plate ; he had 
demanded them, and he had them. I fancy that Death took 
these two teeth out of the savings-bank of life, and gave 
them to Louis XI., to carry with him jon the great journey 
into the land of immortality : they fly before him like two 
flames of fire ; they shine and burn, and they bite him, the 
innocent children’s teeth. 

“Yes, that’s a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the 
great moving-day 1 And when is it to be undertaken ? 
That’s just the serious part of it. Any day, any hour, any 
minute, the omnibus may draw up. Which of our deeds 
will Death take out of the savings-bank, and give to us as 
provision ? Let us think of the moving day that is not 
marked in the calendar.” 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 

In a narrow, crooked street, among other abodes of pov-' 
erty, stood an especially narrow and tall house built of 
timber, which time had knocked about in such fashion that 
i1 seemed to be out of joint in every direction. The house 
was inhabited by poor people, and the deepest poverty was 
apparent in the garret lodging in the gable, where, in front 
of the only window, hung an old bent birdcage, which had 
not even a proper water-glass, but only a bottle-neck re- 


THE BOTTLE-HECK. 


loa 

versed, with a cork stuck in the mouth, to do duty for one. 
An old maid stood by the window : she had hung* the cage 
with green chickweed ; and a little chaffinch hopped from 
perch to perch, and sang and twittered merrily enough. 

“ Yes, it^s all very well for you to sing,” said the bottle- 
neck ; that is to say, it did not pronounce the words as we 
can speak them, for a bottle-neck can’t speak ; but that’s 
what he thought to himself in his own mind, like when we 
people talk quietly to ourselves. “ Yes, it’s all very well 
for you to sing, you that have all your limbs uninjured. 
You ought to feel what it’s like to lose one’s body, and to 
have only mouth and neck left, and to be hampered with 
work into the bargain, as in my case ; and then I’m sure 
you would not sing. But, after all, it is well that there 
should be somebody at least who is merry. I’ve no reason 
to sing, and, moreover, I can’t sing. Yes, when I was a 
whole bottle, I sung out well if they rubbed me with a 
cork. They used to call me a perfect lark, a magnificent 
lark 1 Ah, when I was out at a picnic with the tanner’s 
family, and his daughter was betrothed I Yes, I remember 
it as if it had happened only yesterday. I have gone 
through a great deal, when I come to recollect. I’ve been 
in the fire and the water, have been deep in the black 
earth, and have mounted higher than most of the others ; 
" and now I’m hanging here, outside the bird-cage, in the air 
and the sunshine I Oh, it would be quite worth while to 
hear my history ; but I don’t speak aloud of it, because I 
can’t.” 

And now the bottle-neck told its story, which was suffi- 
ciently remarkable. It told the story to itself, or only 
thought it in its own mind ; and the little bird sang his 
song merrily, and down in the street there was driving and 
hurrying, and every one thought of his own affairs, or 
N t) 


194 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


perhaps of notliing at all ; and only the bottle-neck thought 
It thought of the flaming furnace in the raanufactoiy, where 
it had been blown into life ; it still remembered that it had 
been quite warm, that it had glanced into the hissing fur- 
nace, the home of its origin, and had felt a great desire 
to leap directly back again ; but that gradually it had be- 
come cooler, and had been very comfortable in the place to 
which it was taken. It had stood in a rank Avith a whole 
regiment of brothers and sisters, all out of the same fur- 
nace ; some of them had certainly been blown into cham- 
pagne-bottles, and others into beer-bottles, and that makes 
a difference. Later, out in the world, it may well happen 
that a beer-bottle may contain the most precious wine, and 
a champagne-bottle be filled with blacking ; but even in 
decay there is always something left by which people can 
see what one has been — nobility is nobility, even when 
filled with blacking. 

All the bottles were packed up, and our bottle was among 
them. At that time it did not think to finish its career as a 
bottle-neck, or that it should work its way up to be a bird’s 
glass, which is always an honorable thing ; for one is of 
some consequence, after all. The bottle did not again be- 
hold the light of day till it was unpacked with the other 
bottles in the cellar of the wine merchant, and rinsed out 
for the first time ; and that was a strange sensation. There 
it lay, empty and without a cork, and felt strangely unwell, 
as if it wanted something, it could not tell what. At last, 
it was filled with good, costly wine, and was provided with 
a cork, and sealed down. A ticket was placed on it, 
marked “ first quality and it felt as if it carried off* the 
first prize at an examination ; for, you see, the wine was 
good and the bottle was good. When one is young, that’s 
the time for noetry ! There was a singing and a sounding 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 


195 


within it, of things which it could not understand — of green, 
sunny mountains, whereon the grape grows, where many 
vine dressers, men and women, sing, and dance, and rejoice. 
“ Ah, how beautiful is life I” . There was a singing and 
Bounding to all this in the bottle, as in a young poet's brain ; 
and many a young poet does not understand the meaning 
of the song that is within him. 

One morning the bottle was bought, for the tanner's ap- 
prentice was dispatched for a bottle of wine — “ of the best.” 
And now it was put in the provision basket, with ham, and 
cheese, and sausages ; the finest butter and the best bread 
were put into the basket, too ; the tanner's daughter herself 
packed it. She was young and pretty ; her brown eyes 
laughed, and round her mouth played a smile as elegant as 
that in her eyes. She had delicate hands, beautifully white, 
and her neck was whiter still ; you saw at once that she 
was one of the most beautiful girls in the town : and still 
she was not engaged. 

The provision basket was in the lap of the young girl 
when the family drove out into the forest. The bottle-neck 
looked out from the folds of the white napkin. There was 
red wax upon the cork, and the bottle looked straight into 
the girl's face. It also looked at tlie young sailor who sat 
next to the girl. He was a friend of old days, the son of 
the portrait painter. Quite lately he had passed with honor 
through his examination as mate, and to-morrow he was to 
sail away in a ship, far off to a distant land. There had 
been much talk of this while the basket was being packed ; 
and certainly the eyes and mouth of the tanner's pretty 
daughter did not wear a very joyous expression just then. 

The young people sauntered through the greenwood, 
and talked to one another. What were they talking of? 
No, the bottle could not hear that, for it was in the pro* 


m 


andeesen’s tales. 


vision basket. A long time passed before it was drawn 
forth ; but when that happened, there had been pleasant 
things going on, for all were laughing, and the tanner’s 
daughter laughed, too ; but she spoke less than before, and 
her cheeks glowed like two roses. 

The father took the full bottle and the corkscrew in hia 
hand. Yes, it’s a strange thing to be drawn thus, the first 
time I The bottle-neck could never afterwards forget that 
impressive moment ; and indeed there was quite a convul- 
sion within him when the cork flew out, and a great throb- 
bing as the wine poured forth into the glasses. 

“ Health to the betrothed pair I” cried the papa ; and 
every glass was emptied to the dregs, and the young mate 
kissed his beautiful bride. 

“Happiness and blessing 1” said the two old people, the 
father and mother ; and the young man filled the glasses 
again. 

“ Safe return, and a wedding this day next year I” he 
cried ; and when the glasses were emptied he took the 
bottle, raised it on high, and said, “ Thou hast been present at 
the happiest day of my life, thou shalt never serve another!’* 

And so saying, he hurled it high into the air. The tan- 
ner’s daughter did not then think that she should see the 
bottle fly again ; and yet it was to be so. It then fell into 
the thick reeds on the margin of a little woodland lake ; 
and the bottle-neck could remember quite plainly how it lay 
there for some time. “ I gave them wine, and they gave 
me marsh-water,” he said ; “ but it was all meant for the 
best.” H could no longer see the betrothed couple and the 
cheerful old people ; but for a long time he could hear them 
rejoicing and singing. Then at last came two peasant boys, 
and looked into the reeds ; they spied out the bottle, and 
took it up ; and now it was provided for. 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 


197 


At their home, in the wood cottage, the eldest of these 
brothers, who was a sailor, and about to start on a long 
voyage, had been the day before to take leave : the mother 
was just engaged packing up various things he was to 
take with him on his journey, and which the father was 
going to carry into the town that evening to see his son 
once more, and to give him a farewell greeting for the lad’s 
mother and himself. A little bottle of medicated brandy 
had already been wrapped up in a parcel, wlien the boys 
came in with a larger and stronger bottle which they had 
found. This bottle would hold more than the little one, and 
they pronounced that the brandy would be capital for a 
bad digestion, inasmuch as it was mixed with medical 
herbs. The draught that was now poured into the bottle 
was not so good as the red wine with which it had once 
been filled ; these were bitter drops, but even these are 
sometimes good. The new big bottle was to go, and not 
the little one ; and so the bottle went travelling again. It 
was taken on board for Peter Jensen, in the very same ship 
in which the young mate sailed. But he did not see the 
bottle ; and, indeed, he would not have known it, or thought 
it was the same one out of which they had drunk a health 
to the betrothed pair, and to his own happy return. 

Certainly it had no longer wine to give, but still it con* 
tained something that was just as good. Accordingly, 
whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, it was dubbed by 
his messmates The Apothecary. It contained the best 
medicine, medicine that strengthened the weak, and it gave 
liberally so long as it had a drop left. That was a pleasant 
time, and the bottle sang when it was rubbed with the 
cork ; and it was called the Great Lark, “ Peter Jensen’s 
Lark.” 

Long days and months rolled on, and the bottle already 


198 


Andersen’s tai.es. 


stood empty in a corner, when it happened — whether on the 
passage out or home the bottle could not tell, for it had 
never been ashore — that a storm arose ; great waves came 
careering along, darkly and heavily, and lifted and tossed 
the ship to and fro. The mainmast was shivered, and a 
wave started one of the planks, and the pumps became 
useless. It was black night. The ship sank ; but at the 
last moment, the young mate wrote on a leaf of paper, 
“ God’s will be done I We are sinking 1” He wrote the 
name of his betrothed, and his own name, and that of the 
ship, and put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to 
be at hand : he corked it firmly down, and threw it out into 
the foaming sea. He knew not that it was the very bottle 
from which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled 
for him ; and now it was tossing on the waves with his last 
greeting and the message of death. 

The ship sank, and the crew sank with her. The bottle 
sped on like a bird, for it bore a heart, a loving letter, 
within itself. And the sun rose and set ; and the bottle 
felt as at the time when it first came into being in the red 
gleaming oven — it felt a strong desire to leap back into 
the light. 

It experienced calms and fresh storms ; but it was hurled 
against no rock, and was devoured by no shark ; and thus 
it drifted on for a year and a day, sometimes towards the 
north, sometimes towards the south, just as the current 
carried it. Beyond this, it was its own master ; but one 
may grow tired even of that. 

The written page, the last farewell of the bridegroom to 
his betrothed, would only bring sorrow if it came into her 
hands ; but where were the hands, so white and delicate, 
which had once spread the cloth on the fresh grass in the 
greenwood, on the betrothal day ? Where was the tanner’* 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 


199 


daughter ? Yes, where was the land, and which land might 
be nearest to her dwelling ? The bottle knew not ; it 
drove onward and onward, and was at last tired of wander- 
ing, because that was not in its way ; but yet it had to 
travel until at last it came to land — to a strange land. It 
understood not a word that was spoken here, for this was 
not the language it heard spoken before ; and one loses a 
good deal if one does not understand the language. 

The bottle was fished out and examined on all sides. The 
leaf of paper within it was discovered, and taken out, and 
turned over and over, but the people did not understand 
what was written thereon. They saw that the bottle must 
have been thrown overboard, and that something about this 
was written on the paper, but what were the words ? That 
question remained unanswered, and the paper was put back 
into the bottle, and the latter was deposited in a great cup- 
board, in a great room, in a great house. 

Whenever strangers came the paper was brought out, 
and turned over and over, so that the inscription, which 
was only written in pencil, became more and more illegible, 
so that at the last no one could see that there were letters 
on it. And for a whole year more the bottle remained 
standing in the cupboard ; and then it was put into the 
loft, where it became covered with dust and cobwebs. 
Ah, how often it thought of the better days, the times when 
it had poured forth red wine in the greenwood, when it 
had been rocked on the waves of the sea, and when it had 
carried a secret, a letter, a parting sigh, safely inclosed in 
its bosom I 

For full twenty years it stood up in the loft ; and it 
might have remained there longer, but that the house 
was to be rebuilt. The roof was taken off, and then the 
bottle was noticed, and they spoke about it, but it did not 


200 


Andersen’s tales. 


understand their language; for one cannot learn a language 
by being shut up in a loft, even if one stays there for 
twenty years. 

“ If I had been down in the room,” thought the bottle, 
I might have learned it.” 

It was now washed and rinsed, and indeed this was 
requisite. It felt quite transparent and fresh, and as if its 
youth had been renewed in this its old age ; but the paper 
it had carried so faithfully had been destroyed in the washing. 

The bottle was filled with seeds, though it scarcely knew 
what they were. It was corked and well wrapped up. No 
light or lantern was it vouchsafed to behold, much less the 
sun or the moon ; and yet, it thought, when one goes on a 
journey one ought to see something ; but though it saw 
nothing, it did what was most important — it travelled to 
the place of its destination, and was there uncorked. 

“What trouble they have taken over yonder with that 
bottle 1” it heard people say ; “ and yet it is most likely 
broken.” But it was not broken. 

The bottle understood every word that was now said ; 
this was the language it had heard at the furnace, and at 
the wine merchant's, and in the forest, and in the ship, the 
only good old language it understood; it had come back home, 
and the language was a salutation of welcome to it. For 
very joy it felt ready to jump out of people’s hands ; 
hardly did it notice that its cork had been drawn, and that 
it had been emptied and carried into the cellar, to be placed 
there and forgotten. There’s no place like home, even if 
it’s in a cellar I It never occurred to the bottle to think 
how long it would lie there, for it felt comfortable, and ac- 
cordingly lay there for years. At last the people came 
down into the cellar to carry off all the bottles, and ours 
among the rest 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 


201 


Out in the garden there was a great festival. Flaming 
lamps hung like garlands, and paper lanterns shone trans- 
parent, like great tulips. The evening was lovely, the 
weather still and clear, the stars twinkled ; it was the time 
of the new moon, but in reality the whole moon could be 
Been as a bluish-gray disk with a golden rim round half its sur- 
face, which was a very beautiful sight for those who had 
good eyes. 

The illumination extended even to the most retired 
of the garden walks ; at least so much of it, that one 
could find one's way there. Among the leaves of the hedges 
stood bottles, with a light in each ; and among them was 
also the bottle we know, and which was destined one 
day to finish its career as a bottle-neck, a bird's drinking* 
glass. Every thing here appeared lovely to our bottle, for 
it was once inore in the greenwood, amid joy and feasting, 
and heard song and music, and the noise and murmur of a 
crowd, especially in that part of the garden where the lamps 
blazed and the paper lanterns displayed their many colors. 
Thus it stood, in a distant walk certainly, but that made it 
the more important ; for it bore its light, and was at once 
ornamental and useful, and that is as it should be : in such 
an hour one forg ets twenty years spent in a loft, and it is 
right one should lo so. 

There passe dclose to it a pair, like the pair who had 
walked together long ago in the wood, the sailor and the 
tanner's daughter ; the bottle seemed to experience all that 
over again. In the garden were walking not only the 
guests, but other people who were allowed to view all the 
splendor; and among these latter came an old maid who 
seemed to stand alone in the world. She was ji^st think- 
ing, like the bottle, of the greenwood, and of a young be- 
trothed pair — of a pair which concerned her very nearly, a 

9 + 


202 


Andersen’s tales. 


pair in which she had an interest, and of which she had 
been a part, in the happiest hour of her life — the hour one 
never forgets, if one should become ever so old a maid. 
But she did not know our bottle, nor did the bottle recog- 
nize the old maid ; it is thus we pass each other in the 
world, meeting again and again, as these two met, now 
that they were together again in the same town. 

From the garden the bottle was dispatched once more to 
the wine merchant’s, where it was filled with wine, and sold 
to the aeronaut, who was to make an ascent in his balloon 
on the following Sunday. A great crowd had assembled 
to witness the sight ; military music had been provided, 
and many other piTsparations had been made. The bottle 
saw every thing, from a basket in which it lay next to a 
live rabbit, which latter was quite bewildered because he 
knew he was to be taken up into the air, and let down 
again in a parachute ; but the bottle knew nothing of the 
“ up” or the “down it only saw the balloon swelling Up 
bigger and bigger, and at last, when it could swell no 
more, beginning to rise, and to grow more and more 
restless. The ropes that held it were cut, and the huge 
machine floated aloft with the aeronaut and the basket 
containing the bottle and the rabbit, and the music sounded, 
and all the people cried, “ Hurrah 1” 

“ This is a wonderful passage, up into the air I” thought 
the bottle; “this is a new way of sailing ; at any rate, up 
here we cannot strike upon any thing.” 

Thousands of people gazed up at the balloon, and the old 
maid looked up at it also ; she stood at the open window of 
the garret, in which hung the cage with the little chaffinch, 
who had no water-glass as yet, but was obliged to be con- 
tent with an old cup. In the window stood a myrtle in a 
pot; and it had been put a little aside that it might not fall 


THE BOTTLE-NECK. 


203 


out, for the old maid was leaning out of the window to look, 
and she distinctly saw the aeronaut in the balloon, and 
how he let down the rabbit in the parachute, and then drank 
to the health of all the spectators, and at length hurled the 
bottle high in the air. She never thought that this was the 
identical bottle which she had already once seen thrown 
aloft in honor of her and of her friend on the day of re* 
joicing in the greenwood, in the time of her youth. 

The bottle had no respite for thought ; for it was quite 
startled at thus suddenly reaching the highest point in its 
career. Steeples and roofs lay far, far beneath, and the 
people looked like mites. 

But now it began to descend with a much more rapid 
fall than that of the rabbit ; the bottle threw somersaults 
in the air, and felt quite young, and quite free and unfet- 
tered ; and yet it was half full of wine, though it did not 
remain so long. What a journey I The sun shone on the 
bottle, all the people were looking at it, the balloon was 
already far away, and soon the bottle was far away too ; 
for it fell upon a roof and broke ; but the pieces had got 
such an impetus that they could not stop themselves, but 
went jumping and rolling on till they came down in the court- 
yard and lay there in smaller pieces yet; the bottle-neck 
only managed to keep whole, and that was cut off as clean 
as if it had been done with a diamond. 

“ That would do capitally for a bird-glass,” said the cel- 
lerman; but they had neither bird nor cage ; and to expect 
them to provide both, because they had found a bottle-neck 
that might be made available for a glass, would have been 
expecting too much : but the old maid in the garret, per- 
haps it might be useful to her ; and now the bottle-neck 
was taken up to her, and was provided with a cork. The 
part that had been uppermost was now turned downwards, 
as olhui happens wlicn changes take place ; fresh watei 


204 


Andersen’s tales. 


was poured into it, and it was fastened to the cage of the 
little bird, which sung and twittered right merrily. 

‘‘ Yes, it’s very well for you to sing,” said the bottle-neck; 
and it was considered remarkable for having been in the 
balloon — for that was all they knew of its history. Now it 
hung there as a bird-glass, and heard the murmuring and 
noise of the people in the street below, and also the words 
of the old maid in the room within. An old friend had just 
come to visit her, and they talked — not of the bottle-neck^ 
but about the myrtle in the window. 

“No, you certainly must not spend a dollar for youi 
daughter’s bridal wreath,” said the old maid. “ You shall 
have a beautiful little nosegay from me, full of blossoms. Do 
you see how splendidly that tree has come on ? yes, that 
has been raised from a spray of the myrtle you gave me on 
the day after my betrothal, and from which I was to have 
made my own wreath when the year was past ; but that 
day never came I The eyes closed that were to have been 
my joy and delight through life. In the depths of the sea 
he sleeps sweetly, my dear one 1 The myrtle has become 
an old tree, and I am become a yet older woman ; and when it 
faded at last, I took the last green shoot and planted it in 
the ground, and it has become a great tree ; and now at 
length the myrtle will serve at the wedding — as a wreath 
for your daughter.” 

There were tears in the eyes of the old maid. She spoke 
of the beloved of her youth, of their betrothal in the wood; 
many thoughts came to her, but the thought never came, 
that quite close to her, before the very window, was a re 
membrance of those times; the neck of the bottle which had 
shouted for joy when the cork flew out with a bang on the 
betrothal day. But the bottle-neck did not recognize her, 
for he was not listening to what the old maid said- -and 
still that was because he was thinking of her. 


GOOD-HUMOR. 


205 


GOOD-HUMOR. 

My father left me the best iuheritance; to wit — gooit 
humor. And who was my father ? Why, that has nothing 
to do with the humor. He was lively and stout, round and 
fat; and his outer and inner man were in direct contradic- 
tion to his calling. And pray what was he by professior 
and calling in civil society ? Yes, if this were to be writ- 
ten down and printed in the very beginning of a book, it is 
probable that many when they read it would lay the book 
aside, and say, “It looks so uncomfortable — I don’t like any 
thing of that sort.” And yet my father was neither a horse 
slaughterer nor an executioner; on the contrary, his office 
placed him at the head of the most respectable gentry of 
the town; and he held his place by right, for it was his 
right place. He had to go first before the bishop even, and 
before the princes of the blood. He always went first — for 
he was the driver of the hearse 1 

There, now it’s out 1 And I will confess that when peo- 
ple saw my father sitting perched up on the omnibus of 
death, dressed in his long, wide, black cloak, with his black- 
bordered three-cornered hat on his head — and tlien his face, 
exactly as the sun is drawn, round and jocund — it was diffi- 
cult for them to think of the grave and of sorrow. The 
face said, “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter; it will be 
better than one thinks.” 

You see, I have inherited my good-humor from him, and 
also the habit of going often to the churchyard, which is a 
good thing to do if it be done in the right spirit; and then 
I take in the Intelligencer, just as he used to do. 

I am not quite young. I have neitlier wife, nor childrei 


206 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


nor a library; but, as aforesaid, I take in the Intelligencer^ 
and that’s my favorite newspaper, as it was also my fatlier’s. 
It is very useful, and contains every thing that a man needs 
to know — such as who preaches in the church and in the 
new books. And then what a lot of charity, and what a 
number of innocent, harmless verses are found in it I Ad- 
vertisements for husbands and wives, and requests for in- 
terviews — all quite simple and natural. Certainly, one may 
live merrily and be contentedly buried if one takes in the 
Intelligencer. And, as a concluding advantage, by the end 
of his life a man will have such a capital store of paper, 
that he may use it as a soft bed, unless he prefers to rest 
upon wood-shavings. 

The newspaper and my walk to the churchyard were 
always my most exciting occupations — they were like 
bathing-places for my good-humor. 

The newspaper every one can read for himself. But 
please come with me to the churchyard ; let us wander 
there where the sun shines and the trees grow green. Each 
of the narrow houses is like a closed book, with the back 
placed uppermost, so that one can only read the title and 
judge what the book contains, but can tell nothing about 
it ; but I know something of them. I heard it from my 
father, or found it out myself. I have it all down in my 
record that I wrote out for my own use and pleasure : all 
that lie here, and a few more too, are chronicled in it. 

Now we are in the churchyard. 

Here, behind this white railing, where once a rose-tree 
grew — it is gone now, but a little evergreen from the next 
grave stretches out its green fingers to make a show — there 
rests a very unhappy man; and yet, when he lived, he was 
in what they call a good position. He had enough to live 
upon, ard something over; but worldly cares, or to speak 


GOOD-HUMOR. 


207 


more correctly, his artistic taste, weighed heavily apon him. 
If in the evening he sat in the theatre to enjoy himself 
thoroughly, he would be quite put out if the machinist had 
put too strong a light into one side of the moon, or if the 
sky-pieces hung down over the scenes when they ought to 
have hung behind them, or wlien a palm-tree was introduced 
into a scene representing the Berlin Zoological Gardens, or 
a cactus in a view of the Tyrol, or a beech-tree in the far 
north of Norway. As if that was of any consequence. Is 
it not quite immaterial ? Who would fidget about such a 
trifle ? lUs only make-believe, after all, and every one is 
expected to be amused. Then sometimes the public ap- 
plauded too much to suit his taste, and sometimes too little. 
“Theyh'e like wet wood this evening,” he would say; “they 
won’t kindle at all !” And then he would look round to see 
what kind of people they were; and sometimes he would 
find them laughing at the wrong time, when they ought not 
to have laughed, and that vexed him; and he fretted, and 
was an unhappy man, and at last fretted himself into his 
grave. 

Here rests a very happy man. That is to say, a very 
grand man. He was of high birth, and that was lucky for 
him, for otherwise he would never have been any thing worth 
speaking of ; and nature orders all that very wisely, so that 
it’s quite charming when we think of it. He used to go 
about in a coat embroidered back and front, and appeared 
in the saloons of society just like one of those costly, pearl- 
embroidered bell-pulls, which have always a good, thick, 
serviceable cord behind them to do the work. He likewise 
had a good stout cord behind him, in the shape of a substi- 
tute, who did his duty, and who still continues to do it 
nehind another embroidered bell-pull. Every thing is so 
nicely managed, it’s enough to put one into a good-humor. 


208 


andeksen’s tales. 


Here rests — well, it’s a very mournful reflection— here 
rests a man who spent sixty-seven years considering- how 
he should get a good idea. The object of his life was to say 
a good thing, and at last he felt convinced in his own mind 
that he had got one, and was so glad of it that he died of 
pure joy at having caught an idea at last. Nobody derived 
any benefit from it, and no one even heard what the good 
thing was. Now, I can fancy that this same good thing 
won’t let him live quiet in his grave; for let us suppose that 
it is a good thing which can only be brought out at breakfast 
if it is to make an effect, and that he, according to the 
received opinion concerning ghosts, can only rise and walk 
at midnight. Why, then the good thing would not suit the 
time, and the man must carry his good idea down with him 
again. What an unhappy man he must be I 

Here rests a remarkably stingy woman. During her 
lifetime she used to get up at night and mew, so that the 
neighbors might think she kept a cat — she was so remark* 
ably stingy. 

Here is a maiden of another kind. When the canary bird 
of the heart begins to chirp, reason puts her fingers in her 
ears. The maiden was going to be married, but — well, it’s 
an every-day story, and we will let the dead rest. 

Here sleeps a widow who carried melody in her mouth 
and gall in her heart. She used to go out for prey in the 
families round about; and the prey she hunted was her 
neighbors’ faults, and she was an indefatigable hunter. 

Here’s a family sepulchre. Every member of this family 
held so firmly to the opinions of the rest, that if all the 
world, and the newspapers into the bargain, said of a cer- 
tain thing it is so and so, and the little boy came home from 
school and said, “ I’ve learned it thus and thus,” they de- 
clared his opinion to be the only true one, because he be- 


A LEAF FROM THE SKY. 


209 


longed to the family. And it is an acknowledged fact that 
if the yard-cock of the family crowed at midnight, they 
would declare it was morning, though the watchmen and 
all the clocks in the city were crying out that it was twelve 
o’clock at night. 

The great poet Goethe concludes his “ Faust’’ with the 
v\^ords “may be continued;” and our wanderings in the 
church^mrd may be continued too. If any of my friends, or 
my non-friends, go on too fast for me, I go out to my favorite 
spot and select a mound, and bury him or her here — bury 
that person who is yet alive; and there those I bury must 
stay till they come back as new and improved characters. 
I inscribe their life and their deeds, looked at in my fashion, 
in my record; and that’s what all people ought to do. They 
ought not to be vexed when any one goes on ridiculously, 
but bury him directly, and maintain their good-humor, and 
keep to the Intelligencer^ which is often a book written by 
the people with its hand guided. 

When the time comes for me to be bound with my history 
in the boards of the grave, I hope they will put up as my 
epitaph, “ A good-humored one.” And that’s my story. 


A LEAF FKOM THE SKY. 

High up yonder, in the thin clear air, flew an angel with 
a flower from the heavenly garden. As he was kissing the 
flower, a very little leaf fell down into the soft soil in the 
midst of the wood, and immediately took root, and spiouted, 
and sent forth shoots among the other plants. 

“ A funny kind of slip that,” said the plants. 

0 


210 


Andersen’s tales. 


And neither thistle nor sting’ing-nettle would recognize 
the stranger. 

“ That must be a kind of garden plant,” said they. 

And they sneered; and the plant was despised by them 
as being a thing out of the garden. 

“Where are you coming?” cried the lofty thistles, whose 
leaves are all armed with thorns. 

“You give yourself a good deal of space. That’s all 
nonsense — we are not here to support you I” they grumbled. 

And winter came, and snow covered the plant; but the 
plant imparted to the snowy covering a lustre as if the sun 
was shining upon it from below as from above. When 
spring came, the plant appeared as a blooming object, more 
beautiful than any production of the forest. 

And now appeared on the scene the botanical professor, 
who could show what he was in black and white. He 
inspected the plant and tested it, but found it was not 
included in his botanical system; and he could not possibly 
find out to what class it belonged. 

“ That must be some subordinate species,” he said. “ I 
don’t know it. It’s not included in any system.” 

“ Not included in any system 1” repeated the thistles and 
the nettles. 

The great trees that stood round about saw and heard it; 
but they said not a word, good or bad, which is the wisest 
thing to do for people who are stupid. 

There came through the forest a poor innocent girl. Her 
heart was pure, and her understanding was enlarged by 
faith. Her whole inheritance was an old Bible; but out of 
its pages a voice said to her, “ If people wish to do us evil, 
remember how it was said of Joseph. They imagined evil 
in their hearts, but God turned it to good. If we suffer 
wrong — if we are misunderstood and despised — then we 


A LEAF FROM THE SKY. 


211 


may recall tlie words of Him who was purity and gbodncss 
itself, and who forgave and prayed for those who buffeted 
Him and nailed Him to the cross.” The girl stood still in 
front of the wonderful plant, whose great leaves exhaled a 
sweet and refreshing fragrance, and whose flowers glittcied 
like a colored flame in the sun; and from each flower there* 
came a sound as though it concealed within itself a deep 
fount of melody that thousands of years could not exhaust. 
With pious gratitude the girl lodiced on this beautiful work 
of tlie Creator, and bent down one of the branches towards 
herself to breathe in its sweetness; ani a light arose in her 
soul. It seemed to do her heart good; and gladly would 
she have plucked a flower, but she could lot make up her 
mind to break one off, for it would soon l^Ie if she did so. 
Therefore the girl only took a single leaf, and laid it in her 
Bible at home; and it lay there quite fresh, always green, 
and never fading. 

Among the pages of the Bible it was kept; and, with the 
Bible, it was laid under the young girPs head when, a few 
weeks afterwards, she lay in her coflSu, with the solemn 
calm of death on her gentle face, as if the earthly remains 
bore the impress of the truth that she now stood before her 
Creator. 

But the wonderful plant still bloomed without in the 
forest. It was almost like a tree to look upon; and all the 
birds of passage bowed before it. 

“ That’s giving itself foreign airs now,” said the thistles 
and the burdocks; “ we never behave like that here.” 

And the black snails actually spat at the flower. 

Then came the swineherd. He was collecting thistles 
And shrubs, to burn them for the ashes. The wonderful 
plant was placed bodily in his bundle. 

“ It shall be made useful,” he said; and so said, so done. 


212 


Andersen’s tales. 


But soon afterwards, the king of the country was troubled 
with a terrible depression of spirits. lie was busy and in- 
dustrious, but that did him no good. Tbey read him deep 
and learned books, and then they read from the lightest and 
most superficial that they could find; but it was of no use. 
Then one of the wise men of th« world, to whom they liad 
applied, sent a messenger to tell the king that there was 
one remedy to give him relief and to cure him. He said : 

“ In the king’s own countiy there grows in a forest a plant 
of heavenly origin, , Its appearance is thus and thus. It 
cannot be mistaken ’’ 

“I fancy it was taken up in my bundle, and burnt to 
ashes long ago,” '^^d the swineherd; “but I did not know 
any better.” 

“ You didn’t lnow any better I Ignorance of ignor- 
ances I” 

And those words the swineherd might well take to him* 
self, for they were meant for him, and for no one else. 

Not another leaf was to be found; the only one lay in tho 
coffin of the dead girl, and no one knew any thing about 
that. 

And the king h mself, in his melancholy, wandered out to 
the spot in the wocyrl 

“ Here is where the ^lant stood,” he said; “it is a sacred 
place.” 

And the place was surroiimlpd with a golden railing, and 
a sentry was posted there. 

The botanical professor wrote u long treatise upon the 
heavenly plant. For this he was gilded all over, and this 
gilding suited him and his family very well. And indeed 
that was the most agreealile part of the whole story. But 
the king remained as low-spirited as before; but. that he 
had always been, at least so the sentry said. 


THE DUMB BOOK. 


213 


THE DUMB BOOK. 

By the high-road in the forest lay a lone/, y peasant’s hut, 
the road went right through the farmyard. The sun shone 
down, and all the windows were open. In the house was 
Dustle and movement ; but in the garden, in an arbor of 
blossoming elder, stood an open coffin. A dead man had 
been carried out here, and he was to be buried this morn- 
ing Nobody stood by the coffin and looked sorrowfully at 
the dead man; no one shed a tear for him : his face was 
covered with a white cloth, and under his head lay a great 
thick book, whose leaves consisted of whole sheets of blot- 
ting-paper, and on each leaf lay a faded flower. It was a 
complete herbarium, gathered by him in various places; it 
was to be buried with him, for so he had wished it. With 
each flower a chapter in his life was associated. 

“AVho is the dead man?” we asked; and the answer 
was : 

“ The Old Student. They say he was once a brisk lad, 
and studied the old languages, and sang, and even wrote 
poems. Then something happened to him that made him 
turn his thoughts to brandy, and take to it; and when at 
last he had ruined his health, he came out here into t^*"' 
country, where somebody paid for his board and lodging 
He was as gentle as a child, except when the dark mood 
came upon him; but when it came he became like a giant, 
and then ran about in the woods like a hunted stag; but 
when we once got him home again, and prevailed with him 
BO far that he opened the book with the dried plants, he 
often sat whole days, and looked sometimes at one plant 
and sometimes at another, and at times the tears rolled ovei 


214 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


his checks : Heaven knows what he was thinking’ of. Bui 
he begged ns to put the book into the coffin, and now lie 
lies tliere, and in a little while the lid will be nailed down, 
and he will have his quiet rest in the grave.” 

The face-cloth was raised, and there was peace upon the 
features of the dead man, and a sunbeam played upon it; 
a swallow shot with arrowy flight into the arbor, and 
turned rapidly, and twittered over the dead man’s head. 

What a strange feeling it is — and we have doubtless all 
experienced it — that of turning over old letters of the days 
of our youth I a new life seems to come up with them, with 
all its hopes and sorrows. How many persons with whom 
we were intimate in those days are, as it were, dead to 
us I and yet they are alive, but for a long time we have 
not thought of them — of them whom wo then thought to 
hold fast for ages, and with whom we were to share sorrow 
and joy. 

Here the withered oak-leaf in the book reminded the 
owner of the friend, the school-fellow, who was to be a 
friend for life : he fastened the green leaf in the student’s 
cap in the greenwood, when the bond was made “ for life:” 
where does he live now ? The leaf is preserved, but the 
friendship has perished I And here is a foreign hothouse 
plant, too delicate for the gardens of the North ; the leaves 
almost seem to keep their fragrance still. She gave it to 
him, the young lady in the nobleman’s garden. Here is 
the water-rose, which he plucked himself, and moistened 
with salt tears — the roses of the sweet waters. And here 
is a nettle — what tale may its leaves have to tell ? What 
were his thoughts when he plucked it and kept it ? Here 
is a lily of the valley, from the solitudes of the forest. 
Here’s an evergreen from the flow^er-pot of the tavern ; 
and here’s a naked sharp blade of grass. 


THE JEWISH GIRL. 


215 


Thn blooming elder waves its fresh fragrant blossoms 
over the dead man’s head, and the swallow flies past again. 

Pee- wit ! pee-wit !” And now the men come with nails 
and hammers, and the lid is laid over the dead man, that 
his head may rest upon the dumb book — vanished and scat* 
terod I 


THE JEWISH GIKL. 

Amono the children in a charity school sat a little Jewish 
girl. She was a good, intelligent child, the quickest in all 
the school ; but she had to be excluded from one lesson, 
for she was not allowed to take part in the Scripture les- 
son, for it was a Christian school. 

In that hour the girl was allowed to open the geography 
book, or to do her sum for the next day ; but that was soon 
done ; and when she had mastered her lesson in geogra- 
phy, the book indeed remained open before her, but the 
little one read no more in it ; she listened silently to the 
words of the Christian teacher, who soon became aware 
that she was listening more intently than almost any of the 
other children. 

“ Read your book, Sara,” the teacher said, in mild re- 
proof ; but her dark beaming eye remained fixed upon him; 
and once when he addressed a question to her, she knew how 
to answer better than any of the others could have done. She 
had heard and understood, and had kept his words in her 
heart. 

When her father, a poor, honest man, first brought the 
girl to the school, he had stipulated that she should be ex- 
cluded from the lessons on the Christian faith. But it would 


216 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


have caused disturbance, and perhaps might have awakened 
discontent in the minds of the others, if she had been sent 
from the room during the hours in question, and conse- 
quently she stayed ; but this could not go on any longer. 

The teacher betook himself to the father, and exhorted 
him either to remove his daughter from the school, or to 
consent that Sara should become a Christian. 

“ I can no longer be a silent spectator of the gleaming 
eyes of the child, and her deep and earnest longing for the 
words of the Gospel,’^ said the teacher. 

Then the father burst into tears. 

“ I know but little of the commandment given to my 
fathers,” he said ; “ but Sara’s mother was steadfast in the 
faith, a true daughter of Israel, and I vowed to her as she 
lay dying that our child should never be baptized. I must 
keep my vow, for it is even as a covenant with God Him- 
self.” 

And accordingly the little Jewish maiden quitted the 
Christian school. 

Years have rolled on. 

In one of the smallest provincial towns there dwelt, as a 
servant in a humble household, a maiden who held the Mosaic 
faith. Her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, 
and yet full of splendor and light, as is usual with the 
daughters of Israel. It was Sara. The expression in the 
countenance of the now grown-up maiden was still that of 
the child sitting upon the school-room bench and listening 
with thoughtful eyes to the words of the Christian teacher. 

Every Sunday there pealed from the church the sounds 
of the organ and the song of the congregation. The strains 
penetrated into the house where the Jewish girl, industrioritf 
and faithful in all things, stood at her work. 


THE JEWISH GIRL. 


217 


**Tliou shalt keep holy the Sabbath-day,” said a voice 
within her, the voice of the Law ; but her Sabbath-day was 
a working” day among the Christians, and that seemed un- 
fortunate to her. But then the thought arose in her soul ; 
“Doth God reckon by days and hours?” And when this 
thought grew strong within her, it seemed a comfc rt that 
on the Sunday of the Christians the hour of prayer remained 
undisturbed; and when the sound of the organ and the 
songs of the congregation sounded across to her as she 
stood in the kitchen at her work, then even that place 
seemed to become a sacred one to her. Then she would 
read in the Old Testament, the treasure and comfort of her 
people, and it was only in this one she could read ; for she 
kept faithfully in the depths of her heart the words the 
teacher had spoken when she left the school, and the pro- 
mise her father had given to her dying mother, that she 
should never receive Christian baptism, or deny the faith of 
her ancestors. The New Testament was to be a sealed 
book to her; and yet she knew much of it, and the Gospel 
echoed faintly among the recollections of her youth. 

One evening she was sitting in a corner of the living- 
room. Her master was reading aloud ; and she might listen 
to him, for it was not the Gospel that he read, but an old 
story-book, therefore she might stay. The book told of a 
Hungarian knight who was taken prisoner by a Turkish 
pasha, who caused him to be yoked with his oxen to the 
plough, and driven with blows of the whip till the blood 
came, and he almost sank under the pain and ignominy he 
endured. The faithful wife of the knight at home parted 
with all her jewels, and pledged the castle and land. The 
knight^s friends amassed large sums, for the ransom de- 
manded was almost unattainably high : but it was collected 
at last, and the knight was freed from servitude and misery. 

10 


218 


ANDERSENS TALES. 


Sick and exhausted, he reached his home. But soon anothe) 
summons came to war against the foes of Christianity: the 
knight heard the cry, and he could stay no longer, for he 
had neither peace nor rest. He caused himself to be lifted 
on his war-horse; and the blood came back to his cheek, 
his strength appeared to return, and he went forth to battle 
and to victory. The very same pasha who had yoked him 
to the plough became his prisoner, and was dragged to his 
castle. But not an hour had passed when the knight stood 
before the captive pasha, and said to thim : 

‘‘ What dost thou suppose awaiteth thee ?” 

“I know it,” replied the Turk. “ Eetribution.” 

“Yes, the retribution of the Christian I” resumed the 
knight. “ The doctrine of Christ commands us to forgive 
our enemies, and to love our fellow-man, for it teaches us 
that God is love. Depart in peace, depart to thy home : I 
will restore thee to thy dear ones ; but in future be mild 
and merciful to all who are unfortunate.” 

Then the prisoner broke out into tears, and exclaimed : 

“ How could I believe in the possibility of such mercy 1 
Misery and torment seemed to await me, they seemed in- 
evitable ; therefore I took poison, which I secretly carried 
about me, and in a few hours its effects will slay me. I 
must die — there is no remedy 1 But before I die, do thou 
expound to me the teaching which includes so great a 
measure of love and mercy, for it is great and godlike 1 
Grant me to hear this teaching, and to die a Christian I” 
And his prayer was fulfilled. 

That was the legend which the master read out of the 
old story-book. All the audience listened with sympathy 
and pleasure ; but Sara, the Jewish girl, sitting alone in 
her corner, listened with a burning heart ; great tears 
came into her gleaming black eyes, and she sat there with 


THE JEWISH GIRL. 


219 


a g’entle and lowly spirit as she had once sat on the school 
bench, and felt the grandeur of the Gospel ; and the tears 
rolled down over her cheeks. 

But again the dying words of her mother rose up within 
her : 

“ Let not my daughter become a Christian,” the voice 
cried ; and together with it arose the word of the law* 
“ Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother.” 

“ I am not admitted into the community of the Chris- 
tians,” she said; “they abuse me for being a Jew girl — our 
neighbor’s boys hooted me last Sunday, when I stood at 
the open church-door, and looked in at the flaming candles 
on the altar, and listened to the song of the congregation. 
Ev-er since I sat upon the school bench I have felt the force 
of Christianity, a force like that of a sunbeam, which 
streams into my soul, however firmly I may shut my eyes 
against it. But I will not pain thee in thy grave, 0 my 
mother, I will not be unfaithful to the oath of my father, I 
will not read the Bible of the Christians. I have the re- 
ligion of my people, and to that will I hold!” 

And years rolled on again. 

The master died. His widow fell into poverty ; and the 
servant girl was to be dismissed. But Sara refused to 
leave the house: she became the staff in time of trouble, 
and kept the household together, working till late in the 
night to earn the daily bread through the labor of her 
hands; for no relative came forward to assist the family, 
and the widow became weaker every day, and lay for 
months together on the bed of sickness. Sara worked 
hard, and in the intervals sat kindly ministering by the 
sick-bed: she was gentle and pious, an angel of blessing 
in the poverty-stricken house. 


220 


Andersen’s tales. 

‘‘Yonder on the table lies the Bible,” said the sick woman 
to Sara. “ Read me something- from it, for the night a}> 
pears to be so long — oh, so long ! — and my soul thirsts fur 
the word of the Lord.” 

And Sara bowed her head. She took the book, and folded 
licr hands over the Bible of the Christians, and opened it, 
and read to the sick woman. Tears stood in her eyes, which 
gleamed and shone with ecstasy, and light shone in her 
heart. 

“ Oh, my mother,” she whispered to herself ; “ thy child 
may not receive the baptism of the Christians, or be ad- 
mitted into the congregation — thou hast willed it so, and I 
shall respect thy command : we will remain in union to- 
gether on earth; but beyond this earth there is a higher 
union, even union in God I He will be at our side, and lead 
us through the valley of death. It is He that descendeth 
upon the earth when it is athirst, and covers it with fruit- 
fulness. I understand it— 7I know not how I came to learn 
the truth ; but it is through Him, through Christ I” 

And she started as she pronounced the sacred name, and 
there came upon her a baptism as of flames of fire, and her 
frame shook, and her limbs tottered, so that she sank down 
fainting, weaker even than the sick woman by whose couch 
she had watched. 

“Poor Sara I” said the people; “she is overcome with 
night watching and toil !” 

They carried her out into the hospital for the sick poor. 
There she died; and from thence they carried her to tho 
grave, but not to the churchyard of the Christians, for yon- 
der was no room for the Jewish girl; uutside, by the wall, 
her grave was dug. 

But God^s sun, that shines upon the graves of the Chris- 
tians, throws its beams also upon the grave of the Jewish 


THE THORNY ROAD OF HONOR. 


221 


girl beyond the wall; and when the psalms are sung in the 
churchyard of the Christians, they echo likewise over her 
lonely resting-place; and she who sleeps beneath is in- 
cluded in the call to the resurrection, in the name of Him 
who spake to his disciples : 

“John baptized you with water, but I will baptize you 
with the Holy Ghost 1’^ 


THE THOKNY EOAD OF HONOR, 

An old story yet lives of the “ Thorny Road of Hon or, ^ 
of a marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but 
only after a lifelong and weary strife against difficulties. 
Who has not, in reading this story, thought of his own 
strife, and of his own numerous “ difficulties V’ The story 
is very closely akin to reality; but still it has its harmoni- 
ous explanation here on earth, while reality often points be- 
yond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. The 
history of the world is like a magic-lantern that displays to 
us, in light pictures upon the dark ground of the present* 
how the benefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, 
wandered along the thorny road of honor. 

From all periods, and from every country, these shining 
pictures display themselves to us; each only appears for a 
few moments, but each represents a whole life, sometimes a 
whole age, with its conflicts and victories. Let us con- 
template here and there one of the company of martyi’s — 
the company which will receive new members until the 
world itself shall pass away. 

We look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. Out of th^ 


andeksen’s tales. 


‘i32 

“Clouds” of Aristophanes, satire atvd humor are pouring; 
down in streams upon the audience; on the stage, Socrates, 
the most remarkable man in Athens, he who had been tlie 
shield and defence of the people against the thirty tyrants, 
is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule — Socrates, who 
saved Alcibiades and Xenophon in the turmoil of battle, 
and whose genius soared far above the gods of the ancients. 
He himself is present; he has risen from the spectator's 
bench, and has stepped forward, that the laughing Athe- 
nians may well appreciate the likeness between himself and 
the caricature on the stage : there he stands before them, 
towering high above them all. 

Thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow 
over Athens — not thou, olive-tree of fame I 

Seven cities contended for the honor of giving birth to 
Homer — that is to say, they contended after his death I 
Let us look at him as he was in his lifetime. He wanders 
on foot through the cities, and recites his verses for a liveli- 
hood ; the thought for the morrow turns his hair gray I He, 
the great seer, is blind, and painfully pursues his way — the 
sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king of poets. His 
song yet lives, and through that alone live all the heroes 
and gods of antiquity. 

One picture after another springs up from the east, from 
the west, far removed from each other in time and place, and 
yet each one forming a portion of the thorny road of honor, 
on which the thistle indeed displaj^s a flower, but only to 
adorn the grave. 

The camels pass along under the palm-trees; they are 
richly laden with indigo and other treasures of price, sent 
by the ruler of the land to him whose songs are the delight 
of the people, the fame of the country : he whom envy and 
falsehood have driven into exile has been found, and the 


THE THOKNY ROAD OF HONOR. 


223 


caravan approaches tlie little town in which he has taker 
refuge. A poor corpse is carried out of the town-gate, and 
the funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. The dead 
man is he whom they have been sent to seek — Firdusi — • 
who has wandered the thorny road of honor even to tho 
end. 

The African, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly 
hair, sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of 
Portugal, and begs : he is the submissive slave of Camoens. 
and but for him, and for the copper coins thrown to him by 
the passers-by, his master, the poet of the “ Lusiad,” would 
die of hunger. Now, a costly monument marks the grave 
of Camoens. 

There is a new picture. 

Behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, 
with long unkempt beard. 

“ I have made a discovery,” he says, “ the greatest that 
has been made for centuries; and they have kept me locked 
up here for more than twenty years I” 

Who is the man ? 

“A madman,” replies the keeper of the madhouse. 
‘‘ What whimsical ideas these lunatics have I He imagines 
that one can propel things by means of steam. It is Solo- 
mon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam, whose 
theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by 
Richelieu — and he dies in the madhouse 1” 

Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once 
to follow and jeer, because he wanted to discover a new 
world — and he has discovered it. Shouts of joy greet him 
from the breasts of all, and the clash of bells sounds to 
celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of the bells 
of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world, 
he who lifted the American gold land from tho sea, and 


224 


Andersen’s tales. 


gave it to his king- -he is rewarded with iron chains. He 
wishes that these chains may be placed in his coffin, for 
they witness of the world, and of the way in which a man^s 
contemporaries reward good service. 

One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny 
path of honor and of fame is over-filled. 

Here in dark night sits the man who measured the moun- 
tains in the moon; he who forced his way out into the end- 
less space, among stars and planets; he, the mighty man 
who understood the spirit of nature, and felt the earth 
moving beneath his feet — Galileo. Blind and deaf he sits 
— an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering, 
and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his 
foot — that foot witli which, in the anguish of his soul, when 
men denied the truth, he stamped upon the ground with the 
exclamation, “ Yet it moves I” 

Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith 
and inspiration; she carries the banner in front of the com- 
bating army, and brings victory and salvation to her father- 
land. The sound of shouting arises, and the pile flames 
up : they are burning the witch, Joan of Arc. Yes, and a 
future century jeers at the white lily. Voltaire, the satyr 
of human intellect, writes “ La PucelleP 

At the Thing or assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles 
burn the laws of the king — they flame up high, illuminating 
the period and the lawgiver, and throw a gloiy into the dark 
prison-tower, where an old man is growing gray and bent. 
With his finger he marks out a groove in the stone table. 
It is the popular king who sits there, once the ruler of three 
kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the peasant : it is 
Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us 
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if 
we cannot forget his crime. 


THE THORNY ROAD OP HONOR. 


22S 


A ship sails away, quitting’ the Danisli shores; a man 
leans against the mast, casting a last glance towards the 
Island Hueen. It is Tycho Brahe. He raised the name (A 
Denmark to the stars, and was rewarded with injury, loss, 
nd sorrow. He is going to a strange country. 

“ The vault of heaven is above me everywhere,” he says, 
“and what do I want more And away sails the famous 
Dane, the astronomer, to live honored and free in a strange 
land. 

“Ay, free, if only from the unbearable suflferirigs of the 
body I” comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our 
ear. What a picture 1 Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, 
bound to the rocky island of Munkholm. 

We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest 
rivers; an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said 
that a ship is to sail against wind and weather, bidding de- 
fiance to the elements; the man who thinks he can solve the 
problem is named Robert Fulton. The ship begins its pas- 
sage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins to laugh 
and whistle and hiss — the very father of the man whistles 
with the rest. 

“ Conceit 1 Foolery 1” is the cry. “ It has happened 
just as he deserved : put the crack-brain under lock and 
key I” 

Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the 
machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, 
he floats break the force of the waters, and the ship con- 
tinues its course — and the beam of the steam-engine slxort 
eus the distance between far lands from hours into minutes 

0 human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a 
minute of consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its 
mission, the moment in which all dejection, and every wound 
— even those ca-ueed by thy own fault — is changed into hcaltb 
P 10^^ 


226 


Andersen’s tales. 


and strengtn and clearness — when discord is converted to 
harmony — the minute in which men seem to recognize tlie 
manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel 
how this one imparts it to all ? 

Thus the thorny path of honor shows itself as a gloi-y, 
surrounding the earth with its beams : thrice happy he who 
is chosen to be a wanderer there, and, without merit of his 
own, to be placed between the builder of the bridge and 
the earth, between Providence and the human race 1 

On mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the 
ages, and shows — giving courage and comfort, and awaken- 
ing gentle thoughts — on the dark nightly background, but 
in gleaming pictures, the thorny path of honor; which does 
not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joy here on earth, 
but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity I 


THE OLD GEAVESTONE. 

Ix a little provincial town, in the time of the year when 
people say “ the evenings are drawing in,” there was one 
evening quite a social gathering in the home of a father of 
a family. The weather was still mild and warm. The lamp 
gleamed on the table; the long curtains hung down in folds 
before the open windows, by which stood many flower-pots; 
and outside, beneath the dark blue sky, was the most beauti- 
ful moonshine. But they were not talking about this. 
They were talking about the old great stone wiiich lay below 
in the courtyard, close by the kitchen door, and on which 
the maids often laid the cleaned copper kitchen utensils that 


THE OLD GRAVESTONE. 227 

tliej might dry in the sun, and wliero tlie ciiildron were 
fond of playing. It was, in fact, an old gravestone. 

“ Yes,” said the master of the house, I believe the stone, 
comes from the old convent churchyard; for from the church 
yonder, the pulpit, the memorial boards, and the gravestones 
were sold. My father bought the latter, and they were cut 
in two to be used as paving-stones; but that old stone was 
kept back, and has been lying in the courtyard ever since.” 

“ One can very well see that it is a gravestone,” observed 
I he eldest of the children ; “ we can still decipher on it an 
liour-glass and a piece of an angel ; but the inscription 
which stood below it is quite effaced, except that you may 
read the name of Preben, and a great S close behind it, and 
a little further down the name of Martha. But nothing 
more can be distinguished, and even that is only plain when 
it has been raining, or when we have washed the stone.” 

“ On my word, that must be the gravestone of Preben 
Schwane and his wife I” 

These words were spoken by an old man ; so old, that he 
might well have been the grandfather of all who were pres- 
ent in the room. 

“ Yes, they were one of the last pairs that were buried 
in the old churchyard of the convent. They were an hon- 
est old couple. I can remember them from the days of my 
boyhood. Every one knew them, and every one esteemed 
them. They were the oldest pair here in the town. The 
people declared that they had more than a tubful of gold ; 
and yet they went about very plainly dressed, in the 
coarsest stuffs, but always with splendidly clean linen. 
They were a fine old pair, Preben and Martha ! When 
both of them sat on the bench at the top of the steep stone 
stairs in front of the house, with the old linden-tree spread- 
ing its tranches above them, and nodded at one in theii 


228 


Andersen's tales. 


kind g'cntle way, it seemed quite to do one good. Tlio^f 
were very kind to the poor ; they fed them and clotlu'd 
them ; and there was judgment in their benevolence, and 
true Christianity. The old woman died first : that day is 
^till quite clear before my mind. I was a little boy, and 
iad accompanied my father over there, and we were just 
there when she fell asleep. The old man was very much 
moved, and wept like a child. The corpse lay in the room 
next to the one where we sat ; and he spoke to my father 
and to a few neighbors who were there, and said how lonely 
it would be now in his house, and how good and faithful 
she (his dead wife) had been, how many years they had 
wandered together through life, and how it had come about 
that they came to know each other and to fall in love. I 
was, as I have told you, a boy, and only stood by and list- 
ened to what the others said ; but it filled me with quite 
a strange emotion to listen to the old man, and to watch 
how his cheeks gradually flushed red when he spoke of the 
days of their courtship, and told how beautiful she was, and 
how many little innocent pretexts he had invented to meet 
her. And then he talked of the wedding-day, and his eyes 
gleamed ; he seemed to talk himself back into that time 
of joy. And yet she was lying in the next room — dead — 
an old woman ; and he was an old man, speaking of the 
past days of hope I Yes, yes, thus it is 1 Then I was but 
a child, and now I am old — as old as Preben Schwane 
was then. Time passes away, and all things change. I 
can very well remember the day when she was buried, and 
how Preben Schwane walked close behind the coffin. A 
few years before the couple had caused their gravestone to 
be prepared, and their names to be engraved on it, with 
the inscription, all but the date. In the evening the stone 
was taken to the churchyard, and laid over the grave ; and 


THE OLD ORAV^ESTONE. 


229 


tlij year afterwards it was taken up, that old Prebeu 
Scliwane might be laid to rest beside his wife. They did 
not leave behind them any thing like the wealth people had 
attributed to them : what there was went to families dis- 
tantly related to them — to people of whom until then cue 
had known nothing. The old wooden house, with the seat 
at the top of the steps, beneath the lime-tree, was taken 
down by the corporation ; it was too old and rotten to be 
left standing. Afterwards, when the same fate befell the 
convent church, and the graveyard was levelled, PrebeiPs 
and Martha’s tombstone was sold, like every thing else, to 
any one who would buy it ; and that is how it has hap- 
pened that this stone was not hewn in two, as many an- 
other has been, but that it still lies below in the yard as a 
scoTiring-bench for the maids, and a plaything for the chil- 
dren. The high-road now goes over the resting-place of 
old Preben and his wife. No one thinks of them any 
more.” 

And the old man who had told all this shook his head 
scornfully. 

“ Forgotten ! . Every thing will be forgotten !” he said. 

And then they spoke in the room of other things ; but 
the youngest child, a boy with great serious eyes, mounted 
up on a chair behind the window-curtains, and looked out 
into the yard, where the moon was pouring its radiance 
over the old stone — the old stone that had always appeared 
to him so tame and flat, but which lay there now like a 
great leaf out of a book of chronicles. All that the boy 
had heard about old Preben and his wife seemed concen- 
trated in the stone ; and he gazed at it, and looked at the 
pure bright moon and up into the clear air, and it seemed 
as though the countenance of the Creator was beaming 
over His world. 


230 


Andersen’s tales. 


“ Forgotten ! Ever}' thing will be forgotten !” was re 
peated in the room. 

But in that moment u,n invisible angel kissed the boy’s 
forehead, and whispered to him : 

“ Preserve the seed-corn that has been intrusted to thee, 
that it may bear fruit. Guard it well ! Through thee, my 
child, the obliterated inscription on the old tombstone shall 
be chronicled in golden letters to future generations ! The 
old pair shall wander again arm in arm through the streets, 
and smile, and sit with their fresh healthy faces under the 
lime-tree on the bench by the steep stairs, and nod at rich 
and poor. The seed-corn of this hour shall ripen in the 
course of time to a blooming poem. The beautiful and the 
good shall not be forgotten ; it shall live on in legend and 
in song.” 


THE OLD BACHELOK’S NIGHTCAP. 

There is a street in Copenhagen that has this strange 
name — “ Hysken Strade.” Whence comes this name, and 
what is its meaning ? It is said to be German ; but injus- 
tice has been done to the Germans in this matter, for it 
would have to be “ Hauschen,” and not “ Hysken.” For 
here stood, once upon a time, and indeed for a great many 
years, a few little houses, which were principally nothing 
more than wooden booths, just as we see now in the mar- 
ket-places at fair-time. They were, perhaps, a little larger, 
and had windows ; but the panes consisted of horn or 
bladder, for glass was then too expensive to be used in 
every house. But then we are speaking of a long time 
ago — .so long since, that grandfather and great-grandfather, 


THE OLD bachelor's NIGHTCAP. 


233 


when they talked about them, used to speak of them aa 
“ the old times ” — in fact, it is several centuries a^o. 

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck carried on 
trade with Copenhagen. They did not reside in the town 
themselves, but sent their clerks, who lived in the wooden 
booths in the Hauschen Street, and sold beer and spices. 
The German beer was good, and there were many kinds of 
it, as there were, for instance, Bremen, and Prussinger, and 
Sous beer, and even Brunswick mumm ; and quantities of 
spices were sold — saffron, and aniseed, and ginger, and es- 
pecially pepper. Yes, pepper was the chief article here, 
and so it happened that the German clerks got the nick- 
name “ pepper gentry and there was a condition made 
with them in Lubeck and in Bremen, that they would not 
marry at Copenhagen, and many of them became very old. 
They had to care for themselves, and to look after their 
own comforts, and to put out their own fires — when they 
had any ; and some of them became very solitary old boys, 
with eccentric ideas and eccentric habits. From them, all 
unmarried men, who have attained a certain age, are called 
in Denmark “ pepper gentry •” and this must be understood 
by all who wish to comprehend this history. 

The “ pepper gentleman ” becomes a butt for ridicule, and 
is continually told that he ought to put on his nightcap, 
and draw it down over his eyes, and do nothing but sleep 
The boys sing, 

“ Cut, cut wood I 
Poor bachelor so good. 

Go, take your nightcap, go to rest, 

For ’tis the nightcap suits you best. 1” 

Yes, thaFs what they sing about the “pepperer” — thus they 
make game of the poor bachelor and his nightcap, and turir 


232 


Andersen’s tales. 


it into ridicule, just because they know very little aboul 
either. Ah, that kind of nightcap no one should wish to 
earn I And why not ? — We shall hear : 

In the old times the “ Housekin Street” was not paved, and 
people stumbled out of one hole into another, as in a 
neglected by-wa}^; and it was narrow too. The boothfi 
leaned side by side, and stood so close together that in the 
summer-time a sail was often stretched from one booth to 
its opposite neighbor, on which occasion the fragrance of 
pepper, saffron, and ginger became doubly powerful. Be- 
hind the counters young men were seldom seen. The clerks 
were generally old boys; but they did not look like what 
we should fancy them, namely, with wig, and nightcap, and 
plush small-clothes, and with waistcoat and coat buttoned 
up to the chin. No, grandfather’s great-grandfather may 
look like that, and has been thus portrayed, but the “ pep- 
per gentry” had no superfluous means, and accordingly did 
not have their portraits taken ; though, indeed, it would be 
interesting now to have a pictlire of one of them, as he 
stood behind the counter or went to church on holy-days. 
His hat was high-crowned and broad-brimmed, and some- 
times one of the youngest clerks would mount a feather. 
The woollen shirt was hidden behind a broad linen collar, 
the close jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak 
hung loose over it ; and the trowsers were tucked in to the 
broad-toed shoes, for the clerks did not wear stockings. In 
their girdles they sported a dinner-knife and spoon, and a 
larger knife was placed there also for the defence of the 
owner; and this weapon was often very necessary. Just 
so was Anthony, one of the oldest clerks, clad on high-days 
and holy-days, except that, instead of a high-crowned hat, 
he wore a low bonnet, and under it a knitted cap (a regu- 
lar nightcap), to which he had grown so accustomed that it 


THE OLD bachelor’s N-IGHTCAP. 


23H 


was always on liis iK^ad ; and he had two of them — night 
caps, of course. The old fellow was a subject for a painter. 
He was as thin as a lath, had wrinkles clustering round hig 
eyes and mouth, and long bony fingers, and bushy gray 
eyebrows: over the left eye hung quite a tuft of hair, and 
that did not look very handsome, though it made him very 
noticeable. People knew that he came from Bremen; 
but that was not his native place, though his master lived 
there. His own native place was in Thuringia, the town 
of Eisenach, close by the Wartburg. Old Anthony did not 
speak much of this, but he thought of it all the more. 

The old clerks of the Hauschen Street did not often come 
together. Each one remained in his booth, which was 
closed early in the evening; and then it looked dark enough 
in the street: only a faint glimmer of light forced its way 
through the little horn-pane in the roof ; and in the booth 
sat, generally on his bed, the old bachelor, his German 
hymn-book in his hand, singing an evening psalm in a low 
voice; or he went about in the booth till late into the night, 
and busied himself about all sorts of things. It was cer- 
tainly not an amusing life. To be a stranger in a strange 
land is a bitter lot. : nobody cares for you, unless you hap- 
pen to get in allybody^s way. 

Often when it was dark night outside, with snow and 
rain, the place looked very gloomy and loiiely. No lamps 
were to be seen, with the exception of one solitary light 
hanging before the picture of the Virgin that was fastened 
against the wall. The plash of the water against the neigh- 
boring rampart at the castle wharf could be plainly heard. 
Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people devise 
some emplo3mient for themselves. There is not always 
packing' or unpacking to do, nor can the scales be polished 
or paper bags be made continually; and, failing these, peo 


234 


Andersen’s tales. 


pie should dev5s« other employment for tliemseh^es. And 
that is just what old Anthony did; for he used to mend his 
clothes and put pieces on his boots. When he at last 
sought his couch, he used from habit to keep liis nightcap 
on. He drew it down a little closer; but soo/i he would 
push it up again, to see if the light had been properly ex- 
tinguished. He would touch it, press the wick together, 
and then lie down on the other side, and draw his nightcap 
down . again; but then a doubt would come upon him, if 
every coal in the little firepan below had been properly 
deadened and put out — a tiny spark might have been left 
burning, and might set fire to something and cause damage. 
And therefore he rose from his bed, and crept down the lad- 
der, for it could scarcely be called a stair. And when he 
came to the firepan not a spark was to be discovered, and 
he might just go back again. But often, when he had gone 
half the way back, it would occur to him that the shutters 
might not be securely fastened ; yes, then his thin legs 
must carry him down-stairs once more. He was cold, and 
his teeth chattered in his mouth when he crept back again 
to bed; for the cold seems to become doubly severe when it 
knows it cannot stay much longer. He drew up the 
coverlet closer around him, and pulled down the nightcap 
lower over his brows, and turned his thoughts away from 
trade and from labors of the day. But that did not procure 
him agreeable entertainment; for now old thoughts came 
and put up their curtains, and these curtains have some- 
times pins in them, with which one pricks one's self, and one 
6! ies out “ Oh !" and they prick into one's flesh and burn 
80, that the tears sometimes come into one's eyes; and that 
often happened to old Anthony — hot tears. The largest 
pearls streamed forth, and fell on the coverlet or on the 
floor, and then they sounded as if one of his heartstrings 


THE OLD bachelor’s NIGHTCAP. 


235 


liaJ broken. Sometimes ag-aiii the}'' seemed to rise up in 
flame, illuminating a picture of life that never faded out )f 
his heart. If he then dried his eyes with his nightcap, the 
tears and the picture were indeed crushed, but the source 
of the tears remained, and welled up afresh from his heart. 
The pictures did not come up in the order in which the 
scenes had occurred in reality, for very often the most 
painful would come together; then again the most joyful 
would come, but these had the deepest shadows of all. 

The beech-woods of Denmark are acknowledged to be 
fine, but the woods of Thuringia arose far more beautiful in 
the eyes of Anthony. More mighty and more venerable 
seemed to him the old oaks around the proud knightly 
castle, where the creeping plants hung down over the stony 
blocks of the rock ; sweeter there bloomed the flovvers of 
the apple-tree than in the Danish land. This he remem 
bered very vividly. A glittering tear rolled down over his 
cheek; and in this tear he could plainly see two children 
playing — a boy and a girl. The boy had red cheeks, and 
yellow curling hair, and honest blue eyes. He was the son 
of the merchant Anthony — it was himself. The little girl 
had brown eyes and black hair, and had a bright clever 
look. She was the burgomaster’s daughter Molly. The two 
were playing with an apple. They shook the apple, and 
heard the pips rattling in it. Then they cut the apple in 
two, and each of them took a half ; they divided even the 
pips, and ate them all but one, which the little girl pro- 
posed that they should lay in the earth. 

“Then you shall see,” she said, “ what will come out. It 
will be something you don’t at all expect. A whole applo- 
tree will come out, but not directly.” 

And she put the pip in a flower-pot, and both were very 
busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the eartf 


m 


ANDEKSEN’S J'ALES. 


with liis finger, and ti»e little girl dropped the pip in it, and 
they both covered it with earth. 

“ Now, you must not take it out to-morrow to sec if it 
has struck root,” said Molly. “ That won’t do at all. I did 
it with my flowers; but only twice. T wanted to see if they 
were growing — and I didn’t know any better then — and tho 
plants withered.” 

Anthony took away the flower-pot, and every morning, 
the whole winter through, he looked at it; but nothing was 
to be seen but the black earth. At length, however, the 
spring came, and the sun shone warm again; and two little 
green leaves came up out of the pot. 

“ Those are for me and Molly,” said the boy. “ That’s 
beautiful — that’s marvellously beautiful I” 

Soon a third leaf made its appearance. Whom did that 
represent ? Yes, and there came another, and yet another. 
Day by day and week by week they grew larger, and the 
plant began to take the form of a real tree. And all this 
was now mirrored in a single tear, which was wiped away 
and disappeared; but it might come again from its source 
in the heart of old Anthony. 

In the neighborhood of Eisenach a row of stony moun- 
tains rises up. One of these mountains is round in outline, 
and lifts itself above the rest, naked and without tree, bush, 
or grass. It is called the Venus Mount. In this mountain 
dwells Lady Venus, one of the deities of the heathen times. 
She is also called Lady Holle ; and every child in and 
around Eisenach has heard about her. She it was who 
ured Tannhauser, the noble knight and minstrel, from the 
circle of the singers of the Wartburg into her moun- 
tain. 

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain: 
and once Molly said ; 


THE OLD Bachelor’s ntgiitcap. 


237 


“ You may knock and say, ‘ Lady Hollo, open the dcur — 
Tannhauser is here I’ ” 

But Anthony did not dare. Molly, however, did it, though 
she only said the words, “ Lady Holle, Lady Holle !” aloud 
and distinctly; the rest she muttered so indistinctly that 
Anthony felt convinced she had not really said any thing ; 
and yet she looked as bold and saucy as possible — as saucy 
as when she sometimes came round him with other little 
girls in the garden, and all wanted to kiss him because he 
did not like to be kissed and tried to keep them off ; and 
she was the only one who dared to kiss him in spite of his 
resistance. 

“/ may kiss him!” she would say proudly. 

That was her vanity; and Anthony submitted, and thought 
no more about it. 

How charming and how teasing Molly was! It was said 
that Lady Holle in the mountain was beautiful also, but 
that her beauty was like that of a tempting fiend. The 
greatest beauty and grace was possessed by Saint Eliza- 
beth, the patron of the country, the pious Princess of Thu- 
ringia, whose good actions have been immortalized in many 
places in legends and stories. In the chapel her picture 
was hanging, surrounded by silver lamps; but it was not 
in the least like Molly. 

The apple-tree which the two children had planted giew 
year by year, and became taller and taller — so tall, that it 
had to be transplanted into the garden, into the fresh air, 
where the dew fell and the sun shone warm. And the tree 
developed itself strongly, so that it could resist the winter. 
And it seemed as if, after the rigor of the cold season was 
past, it put forth blossoms in spring for very joy. In the 
autumn it brought two apples — one for Molly and one for 
Anthony. It could not well have produced less. 


238 Andersen’s tales. 

The tree hud ^rowii apace, and Molly grow like the tree, 
She was as fresh as an apple-blossom ; but Anthony was 
not long to behold this flower. All things change! Molly^a 
father left his old home, and Molly went with him, far away 
Y'es, in our time steam has made the journey they took a 
matter of a few hours, but then more than a day and a 
night were necessary to go so far eastward from Eisenach 
to the furthest border of Thuringia, to the city which is 
still called Weimar. 

And Molly wept, and Anthony wept; but all their tears 
melted into one, and this tear had the rosy, charming hue 
of joy. For Molly told him she loved him — loved him more 
than all the splendors of Weimar. 

One, two, three years went by, and during this period 
two letters were received. One came by a carrier, and a 
traveller brought the other. The way was long and diffi- 
cult, and passed through many windings by towns and 
villages. 

Often had Molly and Anthony heard of Tristram and 
Iseult, and often had the boy applied the story to himselt 
and Molly, though the name Tristram was said to mean 
" born in tribulation,” and that did not apply to Anthony, 
nor would he ever be able to think, like Tristram, “ She has 
forgotten me.” But, indeed, Iseult did not forget her faith- 
ful knight; and when both were laid to rest in the earth, 
one on each side of the church, the linden-trees grew from 
their graves over the church roof, and there ericountered 
each other in bloom. Anthony thought that was beautiful, 
but mournful ; but it could not become mournful between 
him and Molly : and he whistled a song of the old minuo- 
singer, Walter of the Vogel verde : 


“ Under the lindens 
Upon the heath.” 


THE OLT) BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP. 


239 


And cspcciully tliat passage appeared cliarming to him : 


“From the forest, down in the vale, 

Sang her sweet song to the nightingale.” 

Tijis song was often in his mouth, and he sang and whistled 
it in the moonlight nights, when he rode along the deep 
hollow way on horseback to get to Weimar and visit Molly. 
He wished to come unexpectedly, and he came unexpect- 
edly. 

He was made welcome with full goblets of wine, with 
jovial company, fine company, and a pretty room and a good 
bed were provided for him; and yet his reception was not 
what he had dreamt and fancied it would be. He could not 
understand himself — he could not understand the others : 
but we can understand it. One may be admitted into a 
house and associate with the family without becoming one 
of them. One may converse together as one would con- 
verse in a post-carriage, and know one another as people 
know each other on a journey, each incommoding the other 
and wishing tliat either one’s self or the good neighbor were 
away. Yes, this was the kind of thing Anthony felt. 

“ I am an honest girl,” said Molly ; “ and I myself will 
tell you what it is. Much has changed since we were chil- 
dren together — changed inwardly and outwardly. Habit 
and will have no power over our hearts. Anthony, I should 
not like to have an enemy in you, now that I shall soon be 
far away from here. Believe me, I entertain the best wishes 
for you; but to feel for you what I know now one may feel 
for a man, has never been the case with me. You must 
reconcile yourself to this. Farewell, Anthony !” 

And Anthony bade her farewell. No tear came into his 
eye, but he felt that he was no longer Molly’s friend. Hot 
iron and cold iron alike take the skin from our lips, and we 


240 


Andersen’s tales. 


have the same feeling when we kiss it : and he kissed him 
self into hatred as into love. 

Within twenty-four hours Anthony was back in Eisenach, 
though certainly the horse on which he rode was ruined. 

“ What matter !” he said : “ I am ruined too ; and I will 
destroy every thing that can remind me of her, or of Lady 
Holle, or Venus the heathen woman 1 I will break down 
the apple-tree and tear it up by the roots, so that it never 
shall bear flower or fruit more I” 

But the apple-tree was not broken down, though he him- 
self was broken down, and bound on a couch by fever. 
What was it that raised him up again ? A medicine was 
presented to him which had strength to do this — the bitterest 
of medicines, that shakes up body and spirit together. An- 
thony^s father ceased to be the richest of merchants. Heavy 
days — days of trial — were at the door ; misfortune came 
rolling into the house like great waves of the sea. The 
father became a poor man. Sorrow and suffering took 
away his strength. Then Anthony had to think of some- 
thing else besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger 
against Molly. He had to take his father^s place — to give 
orders, to help, to act energetically, and at last to go out 
into the world and earn his bread. 

Anthony went to Bremen. There he learned what poverty 
and hard-living meant ; and these sometimes make the 
heart hard, and sometimes soften it, even too much. 

How difterent the world was, and how different the people 
from what he had supposed them to be in his childhood I 
What were the minne-singer^s songs to him now ? — an echo, 
a vanishing sound 1 Yes, that is what he thought some- 
times ; but again the songs would sound in his soul, and 
his heart became gentle. 

God’s will is best I” he would say then. “ It is well 


THE OLD bachelors NIGHTCAP. 


241 


that I was not permitted to keep Molly’s heart — that slie 
did not remain true to me. What would it have led to now, 
when fortune has turned away from me ? Siie quitted 
me before she knew of this loss of prosperity, or had any 
notion of vvdiat awaited me. That was a mercy of Provi- 
dence towards me. Every thing has happened for the best. 
It was not her fault — and I have been so bitter, and have 
shown so much rancor towards her I” 

And years went by. Anthony’s father was dead, and 
strangers lived in the old house. But Anthony was destined 
to see it again. His rich employer sent him on commercial 
journeys, and his duty led him into his native town of 
Eisenach. The old Wartburg stood unchanged on the 
mountain, with “ the monk and the nun” hewn out in 
stone. The great oaks gave to the scene the outlines it had 
possessed in his childish days. The Venus Mount glimmered 
gray and naked over the valley. He would have been glad 
to cry, “ Lady Holle, Lady Holle, unlock the door, and I 
shall enter and remain in my native earth 1” 

That was a sinful thought, and he blessed himself to 
drive it away. Then a little bird out of the thicket sang 
clearly, and the old minne-song came into his mind : 

“ From the forest, down in the vale, 

Sang her sweet song the nightingale.” 

And here in the town of his childhood, which he thus saw 
again through tears, much came back into his remembrance. 
The paternal house stood as in the old times ; but the gar- 
den was altered, and a field-path led over a portion of the 
old ground, and the apple-tree that he had not broken down 
stood thei e, but outside the garden, on the further side of 
the path. But the sun threw' its rays on the apple tree as 
in the old days, the dew descended gently upon it as then, 
Q 11 


242 


Andersen’s tales. 


and it boi'c such a burden of fruit that the branches were 
bent down towards the eartJ). 

“Tliat flourishes !” he said. “The tree can grow !” 

Nevertheless, one of the branches of the tree was broken 
Mischievous hands had torn it down towards the ground j 
for now the tree stood by the public way 

“ They break its blossoms off without a feeling of thank* 
fulness — they steal its fruit and break the branches. One 
might say of the tree as has been said of some men — ‘ It 
was not sung at his cradle that it should come thus.’ How 
brightly its history began, and what has it come to ? For- 
saken and forgotten — a garden tree by the hedge, in the 
field, and on the public way I There it stands unprotected, 
plundered, and broken I It has certainly not died, but in 
the course of years the number of blossoms will diminish; 
at last the fruit will cease altogether; and at last — at last 
all will be over 1” 

Such were Anthony’s thoughts under the tree; such were 
his thoughts during many a night in the lonely chamber of 
the wooden house in the distant land — in the Hauschen 
Street in Copenhagen, whither his rich employer, the Bremen 
merchant, had sent him, first making it a condition that he 
should not marry. 

“ Marry ! Ha, ha 1” he laughed bitterly to himself. 

Winter had set in early; it was freezing hard. Without, 
a snow-storm was raging, so that everyone who could do eo 
remained at home; thus, too, it happened that those who 
lived opposite to Anthony did not notice that for two days 
his house had not been unlocked, and that he did not show 
himself; for who would go out unnecessarily in such 
weather ? 

They were gray, gloomy days ; and in the house, whose 
windows were not of glass, twilight only alternated with 


THE OLD BACHELOR’S NIGHTCAP. 


24:3 


dark night. Old Anthony had not left his bed during tne 
two days, for he had not the strength to rise; he had for a 
long time felt in his limbs the hardness of the weather. Foi-- 
saken by all, lay the old bachelor, unable to help himself. 
He could scarcely reach the water-jug that he had placed by 
his bedside, and the last drop it contained had been com 
Burned. It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age that had 
struck him down. Up yonder, where his couch was placed, 
he was overshadowed as it were by continual night. A 
little spider, which, however, he could not see, busily and 
cheerfully span its web around him, as if it were weaving 
a little crape banner that should wave when the old man 
closed his eyes. 

The time was very slow, and long, and dreary. Tears he 
had none to shed, nor did he feel pain. The thought of 
Molly never came into his mind. He felt as if the world 
and its noise concerned him no longer — as if he were lying 
outside the world, and no one were thinking of him. For a 
moment he felt a sensation of hunger — of thirst. Yes, h( 
felt them both. But nobody came to tend him — nobody 
He thought of those who had once suffered want; of Saint 
Elizabeth, as she had once wandered on earth; of her, the 
saint of his home and of his childhood, the noble Duchess 
of Thuringia, the benevolent lady who had been accustomed 
to visit the lowliest cottages, bringing to the inmates re- 
freshment and comfort. Her pious deeds shone bright upon 
his soul. He thought of her as she had come to distribute 
words of comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted, 
giving meat to the hungry; though her stern husband had 
cnidden her for it. He thought of the legend told of her, 
how she had been carrying the full basket containing food 
and wine, when her husband, who watched her footsteps, 
came forth and asked angrily what she was carrying, where 


244 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


upon she answered, in fear and trembling, that the basket 
contained roses which she had plucked in the garden; how 
he had torn away the white cloth from the basket, and a 
miracle had been performed for the pious lady ; for bread, 
and wine, and every thing in the basket had been trans- 
formed into roses 1 

Thus the saint^s memory dwelt in Anthony’s quiet mind; 
thus she stood bodily before his downcast face, before his 
warehouse in the simple booth in the Danish land. He un- 
covered his head, and looked into her gentle eyes, and every 
thing around him was beautiful and roseate. Yes, the 
roses seemed to unfold themselves in fragrance. There 
came to him a sweet, peculiar odor of apples, and he saw a 
blooming apple-tree, which spread its branches above him 
—it was the tree which Molly and he had planted to- 
gether. 

And the tree strewed down its fragrant leaves upon him, 
cooling his burning brow. The leaves fell upon his parched 
lips, and were like strengthening bread and wine; and 
they fell upon his breast, and he felt reassured and calm, 
and inclined to sleep peacefully. 

“Now I shall sleep,” he whispered to himself. “ Sleep is 
refreshing. To-morrow I shall be upon my feet again, and 
strong and well — glorious, wonderful I That apple-tree, 
planted in true affection, now stands before me in heavenly 
radiance — 

And he slept. 

The day afterwards — it was the third day that his shop 
had remained closed — the snow-storm had ceased, and a 
neighbor from the opposite house came over towards the 
booth where dwelt old Anthony, who had not yet shown 
himself. Anthony lay stretched upon his bed — dead — with 
his old cap clutched tightly in his two hands I They did 


THE OLD BACHELOK’S NIGHTCAP. 


245 


not put that cap on his head in his coffin, for he had a nev? 
white one. 

Where were now the tears that he had wept ? What had 
become of the pearls ? They remained in the nightcap — 
and the true ones do not come out in the wash — they were 
preserved in the nightcap, and in time forgotten; but the 
old thoughts and the old dreams still remained in the 
** bachelor’s nightcap.” Don’t wish for such a cap for 
yourself. It would make your forehead very hot, would 
make your pulse beat feverishly, and conjure up dreams 
which appear like reality. The first who wore that identi- 
cal cap afterwards felt all that at once, though it was 
half a century afterwards; and that man was the burgo- 
master himself, who, with his wife and eleven children, was 
well and firmly established, and had amassed a very toler- 
able amount of wealth. He was immediately seized with 
dreams of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of heavy 
times. 

“ Hallo 1 how the nightcap burns !” he cried out, and 
tore it from his head. 

And a pearl rolled out, and another, and another, and 
they sounded and glittered. 

“ This must be gout,” said the burgomaster. “ Something 
dazzles my eyes I” 

They were tears, shed half a century before by old An- 
thony from Eisenach. 

Every one who afterwards put that nightcap upon his 
head had visions and dreams which excited him not a little. 
His own history was changed into that of Anthony, and 
became a story; in fact, many stories. But some one else 
may tell them. We have told the first. And our last word 
is — don’t wish for “ The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap.” 


246 


Andersen’s tales. 


THE MAESH KING’S DAUGHTEE. 

The storks tell their little ones very many stories, all of 
the moor and the marsh. These stories are generally 
adapted to the age and capacity of the hearers. The young- 
est are content if they are told “ Kribble-krabble, plurre- 
murre” as a story, and find it charming; but the older ones 
want something with a deeper meaning, or at any rate 
something relating to the family. Of the two oldest and 
longest stories that have been preserved among the storks, 
we are only acquainted with one, namely, that of Moses, 
who was exposed by his mother on the banks of the Nile, 
and whom the king’s daughter found, and who afterwards 
became a great man and a prophet. That history is very 
well known. 

The second is not known yet, perhaps, because it is quite 
an inland story. It has been handed down from mouth to 
mouth, from stork-mamma to stork-mamma, for thousands 
of years, and each of them has told it better and better ; 
and now we'll tell it best of all. 

The first stork pair who told the story had their summer 
residence on the wooden house of the Viking, which lay by 
the wild moor in Wendsyssel; that is to say, if we are to 
speak out of the abundance of our knowledge, hard by the 
great moor in the circle of Hjorring, high up by the Ska- 
gen, the northern point of Jutland. The wilderness there 
is still a great wide moor-heath, about which we can read 
in the official description of districts. It is said that in old 
times there was here a sea, whose bottom was upheaved; 
now the moorland extends for miles on all sides, surrounded 


THE MARSH KING’S HAUGHTER. 


247 


by damp meadows, and unsteady shaking swamp, and 
turfy moor, with blueberries and stunted trees. Mists are 
almost always hovering over this region, which seventy 
years ago was still inhabited by wolves. It is certainly 
rightly called the “ wild moor;” and one can easily think 
how dreary and lonely it must have been, and how much 
marsh and lake there was here a thousand years ago. Yes, 
in detail, exactly the same things were seen then that may 
yet be beheld. The reeds had the same height, and bore 
the same kind of long leaves and bluish-brown feathery 
plumes that they bear now; the birch stood there, with its 
white bark and its fine loosely-hanging leaves, just as now; 
and as regards the living creatures that dwelt here — why, 
the fly wore its gauzy dress of the same cut that it wears 
now ; and the favorite colors of the stork were white picked 
out with black, and red stockings. The people certainly 
wore coats of a difierent cut to those they now wear; but 
whoever stepped out on the shaking moorland, be he hunts- 
man or follower, master or servant, met with the same fate 
a thousand years ago that he would meet with to-day. He 
sank and went dowm to the “ marsh king,” as they called 
him, who ruled below in the great moorland empire. They 
also called him “ gungel king;” but we like the name 
marsh king” better, and by that we’ll call him, as the 
storks did. Very little is known of the marsh king’s rule;, 
but perhaps that is a good thing. 

In the neighborhood of the moorland, hard by the great 
arm of the German Ocean and the Cattegat, which is called 
the Ltimfjorden, lay the wooden house of the Viking, with 
its stone water-tight cellars, with its tower and its three 
projecting stories. On the roof the stork had built hia 
nest; and stork-mamma there hatched the eggs, and felt 
sure that her hatching would come to something. 


248 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


One evening stork-papa stayed out very long; and when 
he. came home he looked very bustling and important. 

“ Pve something very terrible to tell you/^ he said to the 
stork-mamma. 

“ Let that be,” she replied. “ Remember that Pm hatch- 
ing the eggs, and you might agitate me, and I might do 
them a mischief.” 

“ You must know it,” he continued. “ She has arrived 
here — the daughter of our host in Egypt — she has dared tc 
undertake the journey here — and she’s gone I” 

“ She who came from the race of the fairies ? Oh, tell 
me all about it 1 You know I can’t bear to be kept long 
in suspense when I’m batching eggs.” 

“ You see, mother, she believed in what the doctor said, 
and you told me true. She believed that the moor-flowers 
would bring healing to her sick father, and she has flown 
here in swan’s plumage, in company with the other swan- 
princesses, who come to the North every year to renew their 
youth. She has come here, and she is gone I” 

“You are much too long-winded 1” exclaimed the stork- 
mamma, “ and the eggs might catch cold. I can’t bear 
being kept in such suspense I” 

“ I have kept watch,” said the stork-papa; “ and to-night, 
when I went into the reeds — there where the marsh grc/ md 
will bear me — three swans came. Something in their f 'ght 
seemed to say to me, ‘ Look out I That’s not altogt 'her 
swan; it’s only swan’s feathers I’ Yes, mother, you ^ave 
a feeling of intuition, just as I have; you know whetb tr a 
thing is right or wrong.” 

“Yes, certainly,” -she replied; “but tell me about the 
princess. I’m sick of hearing of the swan’s feathers.” 

“Well, you know that in the middle of the moor t lere 
is something like a lake,” continued stork-papa. “ You can 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


249 


8oe one corner of it if you raise yourself a little. There, by 
the reeds and the green mud lay a great alder stump; and 
on this the three swans sat, dapping their wings and look- 
ing about them. One of them threw off' her plumage, and I 
immediately recognized her as our house princess from 
Egypt ! There she sat, with no covering but her long 
black hair. I heard her tell the others to pay good heed tv. 
the swan’s plumage, while she dived down into the water 
to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw growing 
there. The others nodded, and picked up the empty feather 
dress and took care of it. ‘ 1 wonder what they will do 
with it?’ thought I; and perhaps she asked herself the 
same question. If so, she got an answer — a very practical 
answer — for the two rose up and flew away with her swan’s 
plumage. ‘Do thou dive down,’ they cried; ‘thou shalt 
never see Egypt again 1 Remain thou here in the moor P 
And so saying, they tore the swan’s plumage into a thousand 
pieces, so that the feathers whirled about like a snow- 
storm ; and away they flew — the two faithless princesses 1” 

“ Why, that is terrible I” said stork-mamma. “ I can’t 
bear to hear any more of it. But now tell me what hap- 
pened next.” 

“ The princess wept and lamented aloud. Her tears fell 
fast on the alder stump, and the latter moved ; for it was 
not a regular alder stump, but the marsh king — he who 
lives and rules in the depths of the moor I I myself saw 
it — how the stump of the tree turned round, and ceased to 
be a tree stump ; long, thin branches grew forth from it 
like arms. Then the poor child was terribly frightened, 
and sprang up to flee away. She hurried across to the 
green slimy ground ; but that cannot even carry me, much 
less her. She sank immediately, and the alder stump dived 
down too ; and it was ho who drew her down. Great 

11 * 


250 


Andersen’s tales. 


black bubbles rose up out of tlie moor-slime, and tlie Iasi 
trace of both of them vanished when these burst. Now 
the princess is buried in the wild moor, and never more will 
she bear away a flower to Eg-ypt. Your heart would have 
burst, mother, if you had seen it.” 

“ You ought not to tell me any thing of the kind at such 
a time as this,” said stork-mamma ; “ the eggs might suffer 
jy it. The princess will find some way of escape ; some 
one will come to help her. If it had been you or I, or one 
of our people, it would certainly have been all over with us.” 

“ But I shall go and look every day to see if any thing 
happens,” said stork-papa. 

And he was as good as his word. 

A long time had passed, when at last he saw a green 
stalk shooting up out of the deep moor-ground. When it 
reached the surface, a leaf spread out and unfolded itself 
broader and broader ; close by it, a bud came out. And 
one morning, when stork-papa flew over the stalk, the bud 
opened through the power of the strong sunbeams, and in 
the cup of the flower lay a beautiful child — a little girl — 
looking just as if she had risen out of the bath. The little 
one so closely resembled the princess from Egypt, that at 
the first moment the stork thought it must be the princess 
herself ; but, on second thoughts, it appeared more prob- 
able that it must be the daughter of the princess and of 
the marsh king ; and that also explained her being placed 
in the cup of the water-lily. 

“ But she cannot possibly be left lying there,” thought 
stork-papa ; “ and in my nest there are so many persons 
already. But stay, I have a thought. The wife of the 
Viking has no children, and how often has she not wished 
for a little one ! People always say, ‘ The stork has 
brought a little one and I will do so in earnest this 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


251 


time. I shall liy with the child to the Viking’s wifa 
What rejoicing there will be yonder !” 

And the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup, 
flew to the wooden-house, picked a hole with his beak in 
the bladder-covered window, laid the charming child on the 
bosom of the Viking’s wife, and then hurried up to the 
stork-mamma, and told her what he had seen and done ; 
and the little storks listened to the story, for they were 
big enough to do so now. 

“ So you see,” he concluded, “ the princess is not dead, 
for she must have sent the little one up here ; and now that 
is provided for too.” 

“ Ah, I said it would be so, from the very beginning I” 
said the stork-mamma ; “ but now think a little of your own 
family. Our travelling time is drawing on ; sometimes I 
feel quite restless in my wings already. The cuckoo and 
the nightingale have started ; and I heard the quails say- 
ing that they were going too, so soon as the wind was 
favorable. Our young ones will behave well at the exer- 
cising, or I am much deceived in them.” 

The Viking’s wife was extremely glad when she woke 
next morning and found the charming infant lying in her 
arms. She kissed and caressed it ; but it cried violently, 
and struggled with its arms and legs, and did not seem 
rejoiced at all. At length it cried itself to sleep ; and as 
it lay there still and tranquil, it looked exceedingly beauti- 
ful. The Viking’s wife was in high glee : she felt light in 
bod}^ and soul ; her heart leapt within her ; and it seemed 
to her as if her husband and his warriors, who were absent, 
must return quite as suddenly and unexpectedly as the 
little one had come. 

Therefore she and the whole household had enough to do 
in preparing every thing for the reception of her lord. The 


252 


Andersen’s tales. 


long colored curtains of tapestry, which slie and her inaidfl 
had worked, and on whicli the}^ had woven pictures of their 
idols, Odin, Thor, and Freya, were hung up ; the slaves 
polished the old shields, that served as ornaments ; and 
cushions were placed on the benches, and dry wood laid on 
the fireplace in the midst of the hall, so that the flames 
might be fanned up at a moment’s notice. The Viking^’s 
wife herself assisted in the work, so that towards evening 
she was very tired, and went to sleep quickly and lightly. 

Wlien she awoke towards morning, she was violently 
alarmed, for the infant had vanished 1 She sprang from 
her couch, lighted a pine-torch, and searched all round 
about ; and, behold, in the part of the bed where she had 
stretched her feet, lay, not the child, but a great ugly frog 1 
She was horror-struck at the sight, and seized a heavy stick 
to kill the frog ; but the creature looked at her with such 
strange, mournful eyes, that she was not able to strike the 
blow. Once more she looked round the room — the frog 
uttered a low, wailing croak, and she started, sprang from 
the couch, and ran to the window and opened it. At that 
moment the sun shone forth, and flung its beams through 
the window on the couch and on the great frog ; and sud- 
denly it appeared as though the frog’s great mouth contracted 
and became small and red, and its limbs moved and stretched 
and became beautifully symmetrical, and it was no longer 
an ugly frog which lay there, but her pretty child 1 

“ What is this ?” she said. “ Have I had a bad dream ? 
Is it not my own lovely cherub lying there ?” 

And she kissed and hugged it ; but the child struggled 
and fought like a little wild-cat. 

Not on this day nor on the morrow did the Viking return, 
although he certainly was on his way home ; but the wind 
was against him, for it blew towards the south, favorably 


THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER. 25^? 

for the storks. A good wind tor one is a contrary wind fo' 
another. 

When one or two more days and nights had gone, the 
Viking^s wife clearly understood how the case was with 
her child, and that a terrible power of sorcery was upon it. 
By day it was charming as an angel of light, though it had 
a wild, savage temper ; but at night it became an ugly 
frog, quiet and mournful, with sorrowful eyes. Here were 
two natures changing inwardly as well as outwardly with 
the sunlight. The reason of this was, that by day the cliild 
had the form of its mother, but the disposition of its father ; 
while, on the contrary, at night the paternal descent became 
manifest in its bodily appearance, though the mind and 
heart of the mother then became dominant in the child. 
Who might be able to loosen this charm that wicked sor- 
cery had worked ? 

The wife of the Viking lived in care and sorrow about it ; 
and yet her heart yearned towards the little creature, of 
whose condition she felt she should not dare tell her hus- 
band on his return ; for he would probably, according to 
the custom which then prevailed, expose the child on the 
•public highway, and let whoever listed take it away. The 
good Viking woman could not find it in her heart to allow 
this, and she therefore determined that the Viking should 
never see the child except by daylight. 

One morning the wings of storks were heard rushing 
over the roofs ; more than a hundred pairs of those birds 
had rested from their exercise during the previous night, 
and now they soared aloft, to travel southwards. 

“ All males here, and ready, they cried ; “ and the wives 
and children too.” 

“ How light we feel 1” screamed the young storks in 
chorus ; “ it seems to be creeping all over us, down into 


254 


Andersen’s tales. 


our very toes, as if we were filled with frogs. Ah, ho\f 
charming it is, travelling to foreign lands !” 

‘‘ Mind you keep close to us during your flight,” said the 
papa and mamma. “Don’t use your beaks too much, for 
that tires the chest.” 

And the storks flew away. 

At the same time the sound of the trumpets rolled across 
the heath, for the Viking had landed with his warriors ; 
they were returning home, richly laden with spoil from the 
Gallic coast, where the people, as in the land of the Britons, 
sang in frightened accents : 

“ Deliver us from the wild Northmen I” 

And life and tumultuous joy came with them into the Vi- 
king’s castle on the moorland. The great mead-tub was 
brought into the hall, the pile of wood was set ablaze, horses 
were killed, and a great feast was to begin. The officiat- 
ing priest sprinkled the slaves with warm blood : the fire 
crackled, the smoke rolled along beneath the roof : but they 
were accustomed to that. Guests were invited, and received 
handsome gifts : all feuds and all malice were forgotten. 
And the company drank deep, and threw the bones of the 
feast in each other’s faces, and this was considered a sign 
of good-humor. The bard, a kind of minstrel, but who was 
also a warrior, and had been on the expedition with the rest, 
sang them a song, in which they heard all their warlike 
deeds praised, and everything remarkable specially noticed. 
Every verse ended with the burden : 

“Goods and gold, friends and foes will die; every man must one day die; 

But a famous name will never die 1” 


And with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered 
Ihe table in glorious fashion with bones and knives. 


THE MAllSH king’s DAUGHTER. 


255 


The Viking’s wife sat upon the liighseat in the open hall 
She wore a silken dress, and golden armlets, and great 
amber beads : she was in her costliest garb. And the bard 
mentioned her in his song, and sang of the rich treasure she 
had brought her rich husband. The latter was delighted 
with the beautiful child, which he had seen in the daytime 
in all its loveliness; and the savage ways of the little crea* 
ture pleased him especially. He declared that the girl might 
grow up to be a stately heroine, strong and determined as 
a man. She would not wink her eyes when a practised 
hand cut off her eyebrows with a sword by way of a 
jest. 

The full mead-barrel was emptied, and a fresh one brought 
in; for these were people who liked to enjoy all things 
plentifully. The old proverb was indeed well known, which 
says, “ The cattle know when they should quit the pasture, 
but a foolish man knoweth not the measure of his own ap 
petite.” Yes, they knew it well enough; but one one 
thing, and one does another. They also knew that “ even 
the welcome guest becomes wearisome when he sitteth long 
in the house;” but for all that they sat still, for pork and 
mead are good things; and there was high carousing, and 
at night the bondmen slept among the warm ashes, and 
dipped their fingers in the fat grease and licked them. 
Those were glorious times ! 

Once more in the year the Viking sallied forth, thougli 
the storms of autumn already began to roar : he went with 
his warriors to the shores of Britain, for he declared that 
was but an excursion across the water; and his wife stayed 
at home with the little girl. And thus much is certain, that 
the poor lady soon got to love the frog with its gentle eyes 
and its sc rrowful sighs, almost better than the pretty chib' 
that bit and beat all around her. 


256 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


The rongli damp mist ot autumn, which aovours the leaves 
of the forest, had already descended upon thicket and heath, 
‘‘Birds featherless,” as they called the snow, flew in thick 
masses, and winter was coming on fast. The sparrows 
took possession of the storks' nests, and talked about the 
absent proprietors according to their fashion; but these — 
the stork pair, with all the young ones — what had become 
of them ? 

The storks were now in the land of Egypt, where the sun 
sent forth warm rays, as it does here on a fine midsummer 
day. Tamarinds and acacias bloomed in the country all 
around; the crescent of Mahomet glittered from the cupolas 
of the temples, and on the slender towers sat many a stork 
pair resting after the long journey. Great troops divided 
the nests, built close together on venerable pillars and in 
fallen temple-arches of forgotten cities. The date-palm 
lifted up its screen as if it would be a sunshade; the gray- 
ish-white pyramids stood like masses of shadow in the clear 
air of the far desert, where the ostrich ran his swift career, 
and the lion gazed with his great grave eyes at the marble 
sphinx which lay half buried in the sand. The waters of 
the Nile had fallen, and the whole river-bed was crowded 
with frogs, and this spectacle was just according to the 
taste of the stork family. The young storks thought it was 
optical illusion, they found every thing so glorious. 

“ Yes, it's delightful here ; and it's always like this in 
our warm country,” said the stork-mamma; and the young 
ones felt quite frisky on the strength of it. 

“ Is there any thing more to be seen ?” they asked. “Are 
we to go much further into the country ?” 

“ There's nothing further to be seen,” answered stork- 
mamma. “ Behind this delightful region there are luxuriant 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


257 


forests, whose branches are interlaced with one another, 
while prickly climbing plants close up the paths — only the 
elephant can force a way for himself with his great feet; 
and the snakes are too big, and the lizards too quick for us. 
If you go into the desert, you’ll get your eyes full of sand 
when there’s a light breeze, but when it blows great guns 
you may get into the middle of a pillar of sand. It is best 
to stay here, where there are frogs and locusts. I shall 
stay here, and you shall stay too.” 

And there they remained. The parents sat in the nest on 
the slender minaret, and rested, and yet were busily em- 
ployed smoothing and cleaning their feathers, and whetting 
their beaks against their red stockings. Now and then 
they stretched out their necks, and bowed gravely, and 
lifted their heads, with their high foreheads and fine smooth 
feathers, and looked very clever with their brown eyes. 
The female young ones strutted about in the juicy reeds, 
looked slyly at the other young storks, made acquaintances, 
and swallowed a frog at every third step, or rolled a little 
snake to and fro in their bills, which they thought became 
them well, and, moreover, tasted nice. The male young 
ones began a quarrel, beat each other with their wings, 
struck with their beaks, and even pricked each other till the 
blood came. And in this way sometimes one couple was 
betrothed, and sometimes another, of the young ladies and 
gentlemen, and that was just what they wanted, and their 
chief object in life : then they took to a new nest, and be- 
gan new quarrels, for in hot countries people are er^^nerally 
hot-tempered and passionate. But it was pleasant for all 
that, and the old people especially were much rejoiced, for 
all that young people do seems to suit them well. There 
was sunshine every day, and every day plenty to eat, and 
nothing to think of but pleasure. But in the rich castle a1 
K 


258 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


tlie Egyptian host’s, as they called him, there was no pleas* 
lire to be found. 

The rich mighty lord reclined on his divan, in the midst 
of the great hall of the many-colored walls, looking as if he 
were sitting in a tulip: but he was stiff and powerless in 
all his limbs, and lay stretched out like a mummy. His 
family and servants surrounded him, for he was not dead, 
though one could not exactly say that he was alive. The 
healing moor-flower from the North, which was to have been 
found and brought home by her who loved him best, never 
appeared. His beauteous young daughter, who had flown 
in the swan’s plumage over sea and land, to the far North, 
was never to come back. “ She is dead I” the two return- 
ing swan-maidens had said, and they had concocted a com- 
plete story, which ran as follows : 

“We three together flew high in the air : a hunter saw 
us, and shot his arrow at us; it struck our young compan- 
ion and friend; and slowly, singing her farewell song, she 
sank down, a dying swan, into the woodland lake. By the 
shore of the lake, under a weeping birch-tree, we laid hei 
in the cold earth. But we had our revenge. We bound fire 
under the wings of the swallow who had her nest beneath 
the huntsman’s thatch ; the house burst into flames, the 
huntsman was burnt in the house, and the glare shone over 
the sea as far as the hanging birch beneath which she sleeps. 
Never will she return to the land of Egypt.” 

And then the two wept. And when stork-papa heard the 
o-ior-y, Lo oiappod with his beak, bo that it could be heard a 
long way off. 

“ Treachery and lies I” he cried. “ I should like to run 
my beak deep into their chests.” 

And perhaps break it off,” interposed the stork-mamma; 
and then you would look well, Tliink first of yourself, 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


259 


and then of your faiuilj’, and all tlie rest does not concern 
you.” 

“ But to-morrow I shall seat myself at the edge of the 
open cupola, when the wise and learned men assemble, to 
consult on the sick man’s state : perhaps they may come »■ 
little nearer the truth.” 

And the learned and wise men came together and spoke 
a great deal, out of which the stork could make no sense — 
and it had no result, either for the sick man or for the 
daughter in the swampy waste. But for all that, we may 
listeri to what the people said, for we have to listen to a 
great deal of talk in the world. 

But then it’s an advantage to hear what went before, 
what has been said; and in this case we are well informed, 
for we know just as much about it as stork-papa. 

Love gives life 1 the highest love gives the highest life I 
Only through love can his life be preserved.” That is what 
they all said, and the learned men said it was very cleverly 
and beautifully spoken. 

That is a beautiful thought I” stork-papa said immedi- 
ately. 

“ I don’t quite understand it,” stork-mamma replied : 
** and that’s not my fault, but the fault of the thought. But 
let it be as it will, I’ve something else to think of.” 

And now the learned men had spoken of love to this one 
and that one, and of the difference between the love of one’s 
neighbor and love between parents and children, of the love 
of plants for the light, when the sunbeam kisses the ground 
and the germ springs forth from it — every thing was so 
fully” and elaborately explained that it was quite impossible 
for stork-papa to take it in, much less to repeat it. He felt 
quite weighed d)wn with thought, and half shut his eyes, 
md the whole of the following day he stood thoughtfully 


260 


ANDEUriEN’S TALES 


Oil one leg : it was qnit(3 heavy for him to carry, all that 
learning. 

But one thing stork-papa understood. All, high and low, 
had spoken out of their inmost hearts, and said that it was 
a great misfortune for thousands of people, yes, for tlio 
whole country, that this man was lying'-sick, and could not 
get well, and that it would spread joy and pleasure abroad 
if he should recover. But where grew the flower that cordd 
restore him to health ? They had all searched for it, con- 
sulted learned books, the twinkling stars, the weather and 
the wind; they had made inquiries in' every by-way of which 
they could think; and at length the wise men and the 
learned men had said, as we have already told, that “ Love 
begets life — will restore a father^s life;” and on this occa- 
sion they had surpassed themselves, and said more than 
they understood. They repeated it, and wrote down as a 
recipe, “ Love begets life.” But how was the thing to be 
prepared according to the recipe ? that was a point they 
could not get over. At last they were decided upon the 
point that help must come by means of the princess, through 
her who clave to her father with her whole soul; and at 
last a method had been devised whereby help could be pro- 
cured in this dilemma. Yes, it was already more than a 
year ago since the princess had sallied forth by night, when 
the brief rays of the new moon were waning : she had 
gone out to the marble sphinx, had shaken the dust from 
her sandals, and gone onward through the long passage 
which leads into the midst of one of the great pyramids, 
where one of the mighty kings of antiquity, surrounded by 
pomp and treasure, lay swathed in mummy-cloths. Then 
she was to incline her ear to the breast of the dead king; 
for thus, said the wise men, it should be made manifest to 
her where she might find life and health for her father. She 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


261 


had fulfilled all these injunctions, and had seen in a vision 
that she was to bring home from the deep lake in the north 
ern moorland — the very place had been accurately described 
to her — the lotos-flower which grows in the depths of the 
waters, and then her father would regain health and 
strength. 

And therefore she had gone forth in the swan’s plumage 
out of the land of Egypt to the open heath, to the woodland 
moor. And the stork-papa and stork-mamma knew all this ; 
and now we also know it more accurately than we knew it 
before. We know that the marsh king had drawn her 
down to himself, and know that to her loved ones at home 
she is dead forever. One of the wisest of them said, as 
the stork-mamma said too, She will manage to help her- 
self and at last they quieted their minds with that, and 
resolved to wait and see what would happen, for they knew 
of nothing better that they could do. 

“ I should like to take away the swan’s feathers from the 
two faithless princesses,” said the stork-papa ; “ then, at 
any rate, they will not be able to fly up again to the wild 
moor, and do mischief. I’ll hide the two swan-feather suits 
up there, till somebody has occasion for them.” 

“ But where do you intend to hide them ?” asked stork- 
mamma. 

“ Up in our nest in the moor,” answered he. “ I and our 
young ones will take turns in carrying them up yonder, on 
our return, and if that should prove too difficult for us, 
there are places enough on the way where we can conceal 
them till our next journey. Certainly, one suit of swan’s 
feathers would be enough for the princess, but two are al- 
ways better. In those northern countries, no one can have 
too many wraps.” 

*^J^o one will thank you for it ” quoth stork-mamma j 


262 


ANDERSEN S TALES, 


“ but ycmVe the master. Except at breeding-time, I have 
nothing to say.” 

In the Yiking^s castle by the wild moor, whither the 
storks bent their flight when the spring approached, they 
had given the little girl the name of Helga ; but this name 
was too soft for a temper like that which was associated 
with her beauteous form. Every month this temper showed 
itself in sharper outlines ; and in the course of years — 
during which the storks made the same journey over and 
over again, in autumn to the Nile, in spring back to the 
moorland lake — the child grew to be a great girl ; and be- 
fore people were aware of it, she was a beautiful maiden 
in her sixteenth year. The shell was splendid, but the ker- 
nel was harsh and hard ; and she was hard, as indeed were 
most people in those dark, gloomy times. It was a pleasure 
to her to splash about with her white hands in the blood of 
the horse that had been slain in sacrifice. In her wild 
mood she bit off the neck of the black cock the priest was 
about to offer up ; and to her father she said in perfect 
seriousness : 

“ If thy enemy should pull down the roof of thy house, 
while thou wert sleeping in careless safety ; if I felt it or 
heard it, I would not wake thee even if I had the power. 
I should never do it, for my ears still tingle with the blow 
that thou gavest me years ago — thou I I have never for- 
gotten it.” 

But the Viking took her words in jest ; for, like all others, 
he was bewitched with her beauty, and he knew not how 
temper and form changed in Helga. Without a saddle, she 
sat upon a horse, as if she were part of it, while it rushed 
along in full career ; nor would she spring from the horse 
when it quarrelled and fought with other horses. Often 
she would throw herself in her clothes from the high shore 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


263 


into the sea, and swim to meet the Viking when his boat 
steered near home ; and she cut the longest lock of her 
hair, and twisted it into a string for her bow. 

“ Self-achieved is well-achieved,” she said. 

The Viking’s wife was strong of character and of will, 
according to the custom of the times ; but, compared to 
her daughter, she appeared as a feeble, timid woman ; for 
she knew that an evil charm weighed heavily upon the un* 
fortunate child. 

It seemed as if, out of mere malice, when her mother 
stood on the threshold, or came out into the yard, Helga 
would often seat herself on the margin of the well, and 
wave her arms in the air ; then suddenly she would dive 
into the deep well, when her frog-nature enabled her to 
dive and rise, down and up, until she climbed forth again 
like a cat, and came back into the hall dripping with water, 
so that the green leaves strewn upon the ground floated 
and turned in the streams that flowed from her gar- 
ments. 

But there was one thing that imposed a check upon 
Helga, and that was the evening twilight. When that 
came she was quiet and thoughtful, and would listen to 
reproof and advice; and then a secret feeling seemed to 
draw her towards her mother. And when the sun sank, 
and the usual transformation of body and spirit took place 
in her, she would sit quiet and mournful, shrunk to the 
shape of the frog, her body indeed much larger than that 
of the animal whose likeness she took, and for that reason 
much more hideous to behold; for she looked like a wretched 
dwarf with a frog’s head and webbed fingers. Her eyes 
then assumed a very melancholy expression. She had no 
voice, and could only utter a hollow croaking that sounded 
like the stifled sob of a dreaming child. Then the Viking’s 


264 : 


ajstdersen's tales. 


wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugMy form as she 
looked into the mournful eyes, and said ; 

“ I could almost wish that thou wert always my poor 
dumb frog-child; for thou art only the more terrible when 
Ihy nature is veiled in a form of beauty.^’ 

And the Viking woman wrote Eunic characters against 
sorcery and spells of sickness, and threw them over the 
wretched child; but she could not see that they worked any 
good. 

“ One can scarcely believe that she was ever so small that 
she could lie in the cup of a water-lily,” said stork-papa, 
“ now she’s grown up the image of her Egyptian mother. 
Ah, we shall never see that poor lady again I Probably she 
did not know how to help herself, as you and the learned 
men said. Year after year I have flown to and fro, across 
and across the great moorland, and she has never once 
given a sign that she was still alive. Yes, I may as well 
tell you, that every year, when I came here a few days 
before you, to repair the nest and attend to various matters^ 
I spent a whole night in flying to and fro over the lake, as 
if I had been an owl or a bat, but every time in vain. The 
two suits of swan feathers which I and the young ones 
dragged up here out of the land of the Nile have conse- 
quently not been used : we had trouble enough with them 
to bring them hither in three journeys; and now they lie 
down here in the nest, and if it should happen that a fire 
broke out, and the wooden house were burned, they would 
be destroyed.” 

“ And our good nest would be destroyed too,” said stork- 
mamma; “ but you think less of that than of your plumage 
stufl:’ and of your moor-princess. You’d best go down into 
the mud and stay there with her. You’re a bad fatlier to 
your own children, as I said already when I hatched our first 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


265 


brood. I only hope neither we nor our children will get an 
arrow in our wings through that wild girl. Helga doesn’t 
know in the least what she does. I wish she would only 
remember that we have lived hei'e longer than she, and that 
we have never forgotten our duty, and have given our toll 
every year, a feather, an egg, and a young one, as it was 
i ight we should do. Do you think I can now wander about 
in the courtyard and everywhere, as I was wont in former 
days, and as I still do in Egypt, where I am almost the 
playfellow of the people, and that I can press into pot and 
kettle as I can yonder ? No, I sit up here and am angry at 
her, the stupid chit ! And I am angry at you too. You 
should have just left her lying in the water-lily, and she 
would have been dead long ago.” 

“ You are much better than your words,” said stork-papa. 
“ I know you better than you know yourself.” 

And with that he gave a hop, and flapped his wings 
heavily twice, stretched out his legs behind him, and flew 
away, or rather sailed away, without moving his wings 
He had already gone some distance, when he gave a great 
flap! The sun shone upon his grand plumage, and his 
head and neck were stretched forth proudly. There was 
power in it, and dash I 

“ After all, he’s handsomer than any of them,” said stork- 
mamma to herself ; “ but I won’t tell him so.” 

Early in that autumn the Viking came home, laden with 
booty, and bringing prisoners with him. Among these 
was a young Christian priest, one of those who contemned 
the gods of the North. 

Often in those later times there had been a talk, in hall 
and chamber, of the new faith that was spreading far and 
wide in the South, and which, by means of Saint Ansgarius, 

12 


266 


ANDEKSEN S TALES. 


had penetrated as far as Hedeby on the Schlei. Even Helga 
had heard of this belief in One who, from love to men and 
for their redemption, had sacrificed His life ; but with her 
all this had, as the saying is, gone in at one ear and come 
out at the other. It seemed as if she only understood the 
meaning of the word “ love,” when she crouched in the cor- 
ner of the chamber in the form of a miserable frog ; but the 
Viking’s wife had listened to the mighty history that was 
told throughout the lands, and had felt strangely moved 
thereby. 

On their return from the voyage, the men told of the 
splended temples, of their hewn stones, raised for the wor- 
ship of Him whose worship is love. Some massive vessels, 
made with cunning art, of gold, had been brought home 
among the booty, and each one had a peculiar fragrance ; 
for they were incense vessels, which had been swung by 
Christian priests before the altar. 

In the deep cellars of the Viking’s house the young priest 
had been immured, his hands and feet bound with strips of 
bark. The Viking’s wife declared that he was beautiful as 
Bulder to behold, and his misfortune touched her heart; but 
Helga declared that it would be right to tie ropes to his 
heels, and fasten him to the tails of wild oxen. And she 
exclaimed : 

" Then I would let loose the dogs — hurrah I over the 
moor and across the swamp ! That would be a spectacle 
for the gods ! And yet finer would it be to follow him in hia 
carcjer.” 

But the Viking would not suffer him to die such a death : 
he purposed to sacrifice the priest on the morrow, on the 
death-stone in the grove, as a despiser and foe oF the high 
gods. 

For the first time a man was to be sacrificed here. 


THE MARSH XiNG’S DAUGHTER. 2t)7 

llelgix begged, as a boon, that she might sprinkle the 
image of the god and the assembled multitude with the 
blood of the priest. She sharpened her glittering knife, 
and when one of the great savage dogs, of whom a number 
wore running about near the Viking’s abode, ran by her, 
she thrust the knife into his side, “ merely to try its sharp- 
ness,” as she said. And the Viking’s wife looked mourn- 
fully at the wild, evil-disposed girl ; and when the night 
came on and the maiden exchanged beauty of form for 
gentleness of soul, she spoke in eloquent words to Helga 
of the sorrow that was deep in her heart. 

The ugly frog, in its monstrous form, stood before her, 
and fixed its brown eyes upon her face, listening to her 
words, and seeming to comprehend them with human in- 
telligence. 

“ Never, not even to my lord and husband, have I allowed 
my lips to utter a word concerning the sufferings I have to 
undergo through thee,” said the Viking’s wife ; “ my heart 
is full of woe concerning thee : more powerful and greater 
than I ever fancied it, is the love of a mother 1 But love 
never entered into thy heart — thy heart that is like the wet, 
cold moorland plants.” 

Then the miserable form trembled, and it was as though 
these words touched an invisible bond between body and 
soul, and great tears came into the mournful eyes. 

“ Thy hard time will come,” said the Viking’s wife ; “ and 
it will be terrible to me too. It had been better if thou 
hadst been set out by the high-road, and the night wind had 
lulled thee to sleep.” 

And the Viking’s wife wept bitter tears, and went away 
full of wrath and bitterness of spirit, vanishing behind the 
curtain of furs that hung loose over th« beam and divided 
the liall. 


andeesen’s tales. 


!?68 

The wrinkled frog crouched in the corner alone. A deep 
silenf'e reigned around ; but at intervals a half-stifled sigh 
escaped from its breast, from the breast of Helga. It 
seemed as though a painful new life were arising in her 
inmost heart. She came forward and listened ; and step- 
ping forward again, grasped with her clumsy hands the 
heavy pole that was laid across before the door. Silently 
and laboriously she pushed back the pole, silently drew 
back the bolt, and took up the flickering lamp which stood 
in the ante-chamber of the hall. It seemed as if a strong 
hidden will gave her strength. She drew back the iron 
bolt from the closed cellar-door, and crept in to the captive. 
He was asleep ; and when he awoke and saw the hideous 
form, he shuddered as though he had beheld a wicked 
apparition. She drew her knife, cut the bonds that confined 
his hands and feet, and beckoned him to follow her. 

He uttered some holy names, and made the sign of the 
cross; and when the form remained motionless at his side, 
he said : 

“ Who art thou ? Whence this animal shape that thor. 
bearest, while yet thou art full of gentle mercy V’ 

The frog-woman beckoned him to follow, and led him 
through corridors shrouded with curtains, into the stables, 
and there pointed to a horse. He mounted on its back ; 
but she also sprang up before him, holding fast by the 
horse^s mane. The prisoner understood her meaning, and 
in a rapid trot they rode on a way which he would never 
have found, on to the open heath. 

He thought not of her hideous form, but felt how the 
mercy and loving-kindness of the Almighty were working 
by means of this monstrous apparition; he prayed pious 
prayers, and sang songs of praise. Then she trembled. 
Was it the power of song and of prayer that worked in 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


269 


her, or was she shudderino- at the cold morning twilight 
til at was approaching ? What were her feelings ? She 
raised herself up, and wanted to stop the horse and to 
alight; but the Christian priest held her back with all his 
strength, and sang a pious song, as if that would have the 
power to loosen the charm that turned her into the hideous 
semblance of a frog. And the horse galloped on more 
wildly than ever; the sky turned red, the first sunbeam 
pierced through the clouds, and as the flood of light came 
streaming down, the frog changed its nature. Helga was 
again the beautiful maiden with the wicked, demoniac 
spirit. He held a beautiful maiden in his arms, but was 
horrified at the sight: he swung himself from the horse, 
and compelled it to stand. This seemed to him a new and 
terrible sorcery; but Helga likewise leaped from the sad* 
die, and stood on the ground. The child’s short garment 
reached only to her knee. She plucked the sharp knife 
from her girdle, and quick as lightning she rushed in upon 
the astonished priest. 

“Let me get at thee I” she screamed; “let me get at 
thee, and plunge this knife in thy body I Thou art pale as 
straw, thou beardless slave I” 

She pressed in upon him. They struggled together in a 
hard strife, but an invisible power seemed given to the 
Christian captive. He held her fast ; and the old oak-tree 
beneath which they stood came to his assistance; for its 
root, which projected over the ground, held fast the maid* 
en’s feet that had become entangled in it. Quite close to 
them gushed a spring; and he sprinkled Helga’s face and 
neck with the fresh water, and commanded the unclean 
spirit to come forth, and blessed her in the Christian 
fashion; but the water of faith has no power when the well 
spring of faith flows not from within. 


270 


andeesen’s tales. 


And yet the Christian showed his power even now, and 
oppose J more than the mere might of a man against the 
evil that struggled within the girl. His holy action seemed 
to overpower her: she dropped her hands, and gazed with 
frightened eyes and pale cheeks upon him who appeared to 
her a mighty magician, learned in secret arts; he seemed to 
her to speak in a dark Runic tongue, and to be making 
cabalistic signs in the air. She would not have winked had 
he swung a sharp knife or a glittering axe against her; but 
she trembled when he signed her with the sign of the cross 
on her brow and her bosom, and she sat there like a tamed 
bird with bowed head. 

Then he spoke to her in gentle words of the kindly deed 
she had done for him in the past night, when she came to 
him in the form of the hideous frog, to loosen his bonds, and 
to lead him out to life and light; and he told her that she 
too was bound in closer bonds than those that had confined 
him, and that she should be released by his means. He 
would take her to Hedeby (Schleswig), to the holy Ansga 
rius, and yonder in the Christian city the spell that bound 
her would be loosed. But he would not let her sit before him 
on the horse, though of her own accord she offered to do so. 

“ Thou must sit behind me, not before me,^’ he said. 
“ Thy magic beauty hath a power that comes of evil, and I 
fear it; and yet I feel that the victory is sure to him who 
hath faith.” 

And he knelt down and prayed fervently. It seemed as 
though the woodland scenes were consecrated as a holy 
church by his prayer. The birds sang as though they be- 
longed to the new congregation, the wild-flowers smelt 
sweet as incense; and while he spoke, the horse that had 
carried them both in headlong career stood still before the 
tall bramble-bushes, and plucked at them, so that the ripe 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


271 


juicy berries fell down upon Helga’s hands, offering them 
selves for her refreshment. 

Patiently she suffered the priest to lift her on the horse, 
and sat like a somnambulist, neither completely asleep not 
wholly awake. The Christian bound two branches together 
with bark, in the form of a cross, which he held up high aa 
they rode through the forest. The wood became thicker aa 
they went on, and at last became a trackless wilderness. 

The wild sloe grew across the way, so that they had to 
ride round the bushes. The bubbling spring became not a 
stream but a standing marsh, round which likewise they 
were obliged to lead the horse. There was strength and 
refreshment in the cool forest breeze; and no small power 
lay in the gentle words, which were spoken in faith and in 
Christian lo\e, from a strong inward yearning to lead the 
poor lost one into the way of light and life. 

They say the rain-drops can hollow the hard stone, and 
the waves of the sea can smooth and round the sharp 
edges of the rocks. Thus did the dew of mercy, that 
dropped upon Helga, smooth what was rough, and pene- 
trate what was hard in her. The effects did not yet ap- 
pear, nor was she aware of them herself ; but doth the seed 
in the bosom of earth know, when the refreshing dew and 
the quickening sunbeams fall upon it, that it hath within 
itself the power of growth and blossoming ? As the song 
of the mother penetrates into the heart of the child, and it 
babbles the words after her, without understanding their 
import, until they afterwards engender thought, and come 
forward in due time clearer and more clearly, so here also 
did the Word work, that is powerful to create. 

They rode forth from the dense forest, across the heatli, 
and then again through pathless loads; and towards eve- 
ning they encountered a band of robbers. 


272 


ANDERSENS TALES. 


“ Where hast thoii stolen that beauteous maiden cried 
the robbers; and they seized the horse’s bridle, and dragged 
the two riders from its back. The priest had no weapon 
save the knife he had taken from Helga; and with this he 
tried to defend himself. One of the robbers lifted his axe 
to slay him, but the young priest sprang aside and eluded 
the blow, which struck deep into the horse’s neck, so that 
the blood spurted forth, and the creature sank down on the 
ground. Then Helga seemed suddenly to wake from her 
long reverie, and threw herself hastily upon the gasping 
animal. The priest stood before her to protect and defend 
her, but one of the robbers swung his iron hammer over the 
Christian’s head, and brought it down with such a crash 
that the blood and brains were scattered around, and the 
priest sank to the earth, dead. 

Then the robbers seized beautiful Helga by her white 
arms and her slender waist; but the sun went down, and its 
last ray disappeared at that moment, and she was changed 
into the form of a frog. A white-green mouth spread over 
half her face, her arms became thin and slimy, and broad 
hands with webbed fingers spread out upon them like fauvS. 
Then the robbers were seized with terror, and let her go. 
She stood, a hideous monster, among them; and as it is the 
nature of the frog to do, she hopped up high, and disap- 
peared in the thicket. Then the robbers saw that this must 
be a bad prank of the spirit Loke, or the evil power of 
magic, and in great affright they hurried away from the 
spot. 

The full moon was already rising. Presently it shone 
with splendid radiance over the earth, and poor Helga crept 
forth from the thicket in the wretched frog’s shape. She 
stood still beside the corpse of the priest and the carcase of 
the slain horse. She looked at them with eyes that ap* 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


273 


peared to weep, and from the frog-mouth came forth a croak- 
ing like the voice of a child bursting into tears. She leant 
first over the one, then over the other, brought water in her 
hollow hand, which had become larger and more capacious 
bj the webbed skin, and poured it over them; but dead they 
were, and dead they would remain, she at last understood 
Soon wild beasts would come and tear their dead bodies; 
but no, that must not be I so she dug up the earth as well 
as she could, in the endeavor to prepare a grave for them. 
She had nothing to work with but a stake and her two 
hands encumbered with the webbed skin that grew between 
the fingers, and which were torn by the labor, so that the 
blcod flowed over them. At last she saw that her endeav- 
ors would not succeed. Then she brought water and washed 
the dead man’s face, and covered it with fresh green leaves; 
‘ihe brought green boughs and laid them upon him, scatter- 
ing dead leaves in the spaces between. Then she brought 
the heaviest stones she could carry, and laid them over the 
dead body, stopping up the interstices with moss. And now 
she thought the grave-hill would be strong and secure. The 
night had passed away in this difficult work — the sun broke 
through the clouds, and beautiful Helga stood there in all 
her loveliness, with bleeding hands, and with the first tears 
flowing that had ever bedewed her maiden cheeks. 

Then in this transformation it seemed as if two natures 
were striving within her. Her whole frame trembled, and 
she looked around, as if she had just awoke from a troubled 
dream. Then she ran towards the slender tree, clung to it 
for support, and in another moment she had climbed the 
summit of the tree, and held fast. There she sat like a 
squirrel, and remained the whole day long in the silent soli- 
tude of the wood, where every thing is quiet, and, as they 
say, dead. Butterflies fluttered around in sport, and in tb«» 
s 12* 


274 


Andersen’s tales. 


neighborhood were several ant-hills, each with its hun 
dreds of busy little occupants moving briskly to and fro. 
In the air danced a number of gnats, swarm upon swarm, 
and hosts of buzzing flies, ladybirds, gold-beetles, and othei 
little winged creatures ; the worm crept fortli from the 
damp ground, the moles came out ; but except these, all was 
silent around — silent, and, as people say, dead — ^for they speak 
of things as they understand them. No one noticed Helga, 
but some flocks of crows, that flew screaming about the 
top of the tree on which she sat ; the birds hopped close up 
to her on the twigs with a pert curiosity ; but when the 
glance of her eye fell upon them, it was a signal for their 
flight. But they could not understand her — nor, indeed, 
could she understand herself. 

When the evening twilight came on, and the sun was 
sinking, the time of her transformation roused her to fresh 
activity. She glided down from the tree, and as the last 
sunbeam vanished she stood in the wrinkled form of the 
frog, with the torn webbed-skin on her hands ; but her eyes 
now gleamed with a splendor of beauty that had scarcely 
been theirs when she wore her garb of loveliness, for they 
were a pair of pure, pious, maidenly eyes that shone out of 
the frog-face. They bore witness of depth of feeling, of the 
gentle human heart ; and the beauteous eyes overflowed in 
tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart. 

On the sepulchral mound she had raised there yet lay the 
cross of boughs, the last work of him who slept beneath. 
Helga lifted up the cross, in pursuance of a sudden thought 
that came upon her. She planted it upon the burial mound, 
over the priest and the dead horse. The sorrowful remem- 
brance of him called fresh tears into her eyes ; and in this 
tender frame of mind she marked the same sign in the sand 
around the grave ; and as she wrote the sign with both 


THE MAESH KING’S HAUGIITEE. 275 

her hands, the webbed-skin fell from them like a torn glove ; 
and when she washed her hands in the woodland spring, 
and gazed in wonder at their snowy whiteness, she again 
made the holy sign in the air between herself and the dead 
man ; then her lips trembled, the holy name that had been 
preached to her during the ride from the forest came to her 
mouth, and she pronounced it audibly. 

Then the frog-skin fell from her, and she was once mere 
the beauteous maiden. But her head sank wearily, her 
tired limbs required rest, and she fell into a deep slumber. 

Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight she 
awoke. Before her stood the dead horse, beaming and full 
of life, which gleamed forth from his eyes and from his 
wounded neck ; close beside the creature stood the mur- 
dered Christian priest, “ more beautiful than Bulder,” the 
Viking woman would have said ; and yet he seemed to 
stand in a flame of fire. 

Such gravity, such an air of justice, such a piercing look 
shone out of his great mild eyes, that Iheir glance seemed 
to penetrate every corner of her heart. Beautiful Helga 
trembled at the look, and her remembrance awoke as though 
she stood before the tribunal of judgment. Every good deed 
that had been done for her, every loving word that had 
been spoken, seemed endowed with life ; she understood 
that it had been love that kept her here during the days of 
trial, during which the creature formed of dust and spirit, 
soul and earth, combats and struggles ; she acknowledged 
that she had only followed the leading of temper, and had 
done nothing for herself ; every thing had been given her, 
every thing had happened as it were by the interposition 
of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessing her 
own deep inperfection in the presence of the Power that can 
road every thought of the heart — and then the priest spoke* 


276 


andeksen’s tales. 


'‘Thou daughter of the moorland,^ be said, “out of the 
earth, out of the moor, thou earnest; but from the earth 
thou shalt arise. I come from the land of the dead. Thou, 
too, shalt pass through the deep valleys into the beaming 
mountain region, where dwell mercy and completeness. 1 
cannot lead thee to Hedeby, that thou mayst receive Chris- 
tian baptism; for, first, thou must burst the veil of waters 
over the deep moorland, and draw forth the living source of 
thy being and of thy birth ; thou must exercise thy faculties 
in deeds before the consecration can be given thee.” 

And he lifted her upon the horse, and gave her a golden 
censer similar to the one she had seen in the Viking’s castle. 
The open wound in the forehead of the slain Christian shone 
like a diadem. He took the cross from the grave and held 
it aloft. And now they rode through the air, over the rust- 
ling wood, over the hills where the old heroes lay buried, 
each on his dead war-horse; and the iron figures rose up and 
galloped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of 
the hills. The golden hoop on the forehead of each gleamed 
in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in the night 
breeze. The dragon that guards buried treasures likewise 
lifted up his head and gazed after the riders. The gnomes 
and wood-spirits peeped forth from beneath the hills and 
from between the furrows of the fields, and flitted to and fro 
with red, blue, and green torches, like the sparks in the 
ashes of a burnt paper. 

Over woodland and heath, over river and marsh they fled 
away, up to the wild moor; and over this they hovered in 
wide circles. The Christian priest held the cross aloft; it 
gleamed like gold; and from his lips dropped pious prayers. 
Beautiful Helga joined in the hymns he sang, like a child 
joining in its mother’s song. She swung the censer, and a 
wondrous fragrance of incense streamed forth thence, so 


IHE MAKSII king’s DAUGHTER- 


2Y7 


that tlie roeds and grass of the moor burst forth into bios 
8om, Every germ came forth from the deep ground. All 
that had life lifted itself up. A veil of water-lilies spread 
itself forth like a carpet of wrought flowers, and upon this 
carpet lay a sleeping woman, young and beautiful. Helga 
thought it was her own likeness she saw upon the mirror ot 
the calm waters. But it was lier mother whom she beheld, 
tlie moor king’s wife, the princess from the banks of the 
Nile. 

The dead priest commanded that the slumbering woman 
should be lifted upon the horse; but the horse sank under 
the burden, as though its body had been a cloth fluttering 
in the wind. But the holy sign gave strength to the airy 
phantom, and then the three rode from the moor to the firm 
land. 

Then the cock crowed in the Viking’s castle, and the 
phantom shapes dissolved and floated away in air ; but 
mother and daughter stood opposite each other. 

“ Am I really looking at my own image from beneath the 
deep waters ?” asked the mother. 

“ Is it myself that I see reflected on the clear mirror ?” 
exclaimed the daughter. 

And they approached one another, and embraced. The 
heart of the mother beat quickest, and she understood the 
quickening pulses. 

“ My child ! thou flower of my own heart ! my lotus- 
tiower of the deep waters !” 

And she embraced her child anew, and wept; and the 
tears were as a new baptism of life and love to Helga. 

“ In the swan’s plumage came I hither,” said the mother; 
“ and here also I threw off* my dress of feathers. I sank 
through the shaking moorland, far down into the black 
slime, which closed like a wall around me. But soon I fel< 


278 


ANDEKSEN'S TALES. 


a fresher stream; a power drew me down, deeper and evei 
deepen I felt the weight of sleep upon my eyelids; I slum- 
bered, and dreams hovered round me. It seemed to me 
that I was again in the pyramid in Eg^^pt, and yet the wav- 
ing willow trunk that had frightened me up in the moor 
was ever before me. I looked at the clefts and wrinkles in 
the stem, and they shone forth in colors, and took the form 
of hieroglyphics: it was the case of the mummy at which 1 
was gazing; at last the case burst, and forth stepped the 
thousand-year-old king, the mummied form, black as pitch, 
shining black as the wood-snail or the fat mud of the 
swamp; whether it was the marsh king or the mummy of 
the pyramids I knew not. He seized me in his arms, and I 
felt as if I must die. When I returned to consciousness a 
little bird was sitting on my bosom, beating with its wings, 
and twittering and singing. The bird flew away from me 
up towards the heavy, dark covering ; but a long green 
band ^till fastened him to me. I heard and understood his 
longii\g tones: ‘ Freedom 1 Sunlight 1 to my father'- 1' 
Then I thought of my father and the sunny land of my 
birth, my life, and my love; and I loosened the band and let 
the bird soar away home to the father. Since that hour I 
have dreamed no more. I have slept a sleep, a long and 
heavy sleep, till within this hour ; harmony and incense 
awoke me and set me free.” 

The green band from the heart of the mother to tire bird^s 
wings, where did it flutter now ? whither had it been 
wafted ? Only the stork had seen it. The band was the 
green stalk, the bow at the end, the beauteous flower, the 
cradle of the child that had now bloomed into beauty, and 
was once more resting on its mother’s heart. 

And while the two were locked in each other’s embrace, 
tli(^ old stoik flew around them in smaller and smaller cir 


THE MAKSH KING S DAUGHTER. 


279 


cles, and at length shot away in swift flight towards hia 
nest, whence he brought out the swan-feather suits he had 
preserved there for years, throwing one to each of them; 
and the feathers closed around them, so that they soared up 
from the earth in the semblance of two white swans. 

“And now we will speak with one another,” quoth stork* 
papa, “ now we understand each other, though the beak of 
one bird is differently shaped from that of another. It hap- 
pens more than fortunately that you came to-night. To- 
morrow we should have been gone — mother, myself, and 
the young ones ; for weVe flying southward. Yes, only 
look at me ! I am an old friend from the land of the Nile, 
and mother has a heart larger than her beak. She always 
declared the princess would find a way to help herself ; and 
I and the young ones carried the swan’s feathers up here. 
But how glad I am I and how fortunate that I’m here still ! 
At dawn of day we shall move hence, a great company of 
storks. We’ll fly first, and do you follow us ; thus you 
cannot miss your way ; moreover, I and the youngsters 
will keep a sharp eye upon you.” 

“ And the lotus-flower which I was to bring with me,” 
said the Egyptian princess, “ she is flying by my side in 
the swan’s plumage I I bring with me the flower of my 
heart ; and thus the riddle has been read. Homeward 1 
homeward I” 

But Helga declared she could not quit the Danish land be- 
fore she had once more seen her foster-mother, the affec- 
tionate Viking woman. Every beautiful recollection, every 
kind word, every tear that her foster-mother had wept for 
her, rose up in her memory, and in that moment she almost 
felt as if she loved tlie Viking woman best of all. 

“ Yes, we must go to the Viking’s castle,” said stork 
papa; “mother and the youngsters are waiting for us 


280 


Andersen’s tales. 


there. How they will turn up their eyes and flap theif 
wings I Yes, you see mother doesn^t speak much — she‘s 
short and dry, but she means all the better. lUl begin 
clapping at once, that they may know we are coming.” And 
stork-papa clapped in first-rate style, and they all flew away 
towards the Viking’s castle. 

In the castle every one was sunk in deep sleep. The 
Viking’s wife had not retired to rest until it was late. She 
was anxious about Helga, who had vanished with a Chris- 
tian priest tliree days before : she knew Helga must have 
assisted him in his flight, for it was the girl’s horse that 
had been missed from the stables ; but how all this had 
been effected was a mystery to her. The Viking woman 
had heard of the miracles told of the Christian priest, and 
which were said to be wrought by him and by those who 
believed in his words and followed him. Her passing 
thoughts formed themselves into a dream, and it seemed to 
her that she was still lying awake on her couch, and that 
deep darkness reigned without. The storm drew near : she 
heard the sea roaring and rolling to the east and to the 
west, like the waves of the North Sea and the Cattegat. 
The immense snake, which was believed to surround the 
span of the earth in the depths of the ocean, was trembling 
in convulsions ; she dreamed that the night of the fall of 
the gods had come — Ragnarok, as the heathen called the 
last day, when every thing was to pass away, even the great 
gods themselves. The vrar-trumpet sounded, and the gods 
rode over the rainbow, clad in steel, to fight the last battle. 
The winged Valkyrs rode before them, and the dead war- 
riors closed the train. The whole firmament was ablaze 
with northern lights, and yet the darkness seemed to pre- 
dominate. It was a terrible hour. 

And close by the terrified Viking woman Helga seemed 


THE MARSH KING’s DAUGHTER. 


281 


t ) be crouching on the floor in the hideous frog-form, treru' 
bling and pressing close to her foster-mother, who took hei 
on her lap, and embraced her alfectionately, hideous though 
she was. The air resounded with the blows of clubs and 
swords, and with the hissing of arrows, as if a hailstorm 
were passing across it. The hour was come when earth 
and sky were to burst, the stars to fall, and all things to oe 
swallowed up in Surtur^s sea of fire ; but she knew that 
there would be a new heaven and a new earth, that the 
cornfields then would wave where now the ocean rolled over 
the desolate tracts of sand, and that the unutterable God 
would reign ; and up to Him rose Bulder the gentle, the 
affectionate, delivered from the kingdom of the dead. He 
came ; the Viking woman saw him, and recognized his 
countenance ; it was that of the captive Christian priest 
“ White- Christian she cried aloud, and with these words 
she pressed a kiss upon the forehead of the hideous frog- 
child. Then the frog-skin fell off, and Helga stood revealed 
in all her beauty, lovely and gentle as she had never ap- 
peared, and with beaming eyes. She kissed her foster- 
mother\s hands, blessed her for all the care and affection 
lavished during the days of bitterness and trial, for the 
thought she had awakened and cherished in her, for naming 
the name, which she repeated, “ White Christian ; and 
beauteous Helga arose in the form of a mighty swan, and 
spread her white wings with a rushing like the sound of a 
troop of birds of passage winging their way through the air. 

The Viking woman woke ; and she heard the same noise 
without still continuing. She knew it was the time for the 
storks to depart, and that it must be those birds whose 
wings she heard. She wished to see them once more, and 
to bid them farewell as they set forth on their journey 
Therefore she rose from her couch, and stepped out upon the 


282 


Andersen’s tales. 


tiireshold, and on the top of the gable she saw stork ranged 
behind stork, and around the castle, over the high trees, 
flew bands of storks wheeling in wide circles ; but opposite 
the threshold where she stood, by the well where Helga 
had often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, sat two 
white swans gazing at her with intelligent eyes. And 
she remembered her dream, which still filled her soul as if 
it were reality. She thought of Helga in the shape of a 
swan, and of the Christian priest ; and suddenly she felt 
her heart rejoice within her. 

The swans flapped their wings and arched their necks, as 
if they would send her a greeting, and the Viking’s wife 
spread out her arms towards them, as if she felt all this ; 
and smiled through her tears, and then stood sunk in deep 
thought. 

Then all the storks arose, flapping their wings and clapping 
with their beaks, to start on their voyage towards the South. 

“ We will not wait for the swans,” said stork-mamma : 
“ if they want to go with us they had better come. We 
can’t sit here till the plovers start. It is a fine thing, after 
all, to travel in this way, in families, not like the finches 
and partridges, where the male and female birds fly in 
separate bodies, which appears to me a very unbecoming 
thing. What are j'^onder swans flapping their wings for ?” 

“ Well, every one flies in his own fashion,” said stork- 
papa : “ the swans in an oblique line, the cranes in a tri- 
angle, and the plovers in a snake’s line.” 

“ Don’t talk about snakes while we are flying up here,” 
said stork-mamma. “ It only puts ideas into the children’s 
heads which can’t be gratified.” 

“ Are those the liigh mountains of which I heard tell V' 
a.sked Helga, in the swan’s plumage. 


TB.E MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER, 


283 


“They are storni-clouds driving’ on beneath us ” replied 
her motlier. 

“ What are yonder 'wliite clouds that rise so high asked 
Helga again. 

“ Those are the mountains covered with perpetual snow 
which you see yonder,” replied her mother. 

And they flew across the lofty Alps towards the blue 
Mediterranean. 

“ Africa’s land I Egypt’s strand I” sang, rejoicingly, in 
her swan’s plumage, the daughter of the Nile, as from the 
lofty air she saw her native land looming in the form of a 
yellowish wavy stripe of shore 

And all the birds caught sight of it, and hastened their 
flight. 

“ I can scent the Nile mud and wet frogs,” said stork- 
mamma; “ I begin to feel quite hungry. Yes; now you 
shall taste something nice; and you will see the maraboo 
bird, the crane, and the ibis. They all belong to our family, 
though they are not nearly so beautiful as we. They give 
themselves great airs, especially the ibis. He has been 
quite spoilt by the Egyptians, for they make a mummy of 
him and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffed 
with live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. Better 
have something in one’s inside while one is alive than to be 
made a fuss with after one is dead. That’s my opinion, and 
I am alwaj^s right.” 

“ Now the storks are come,” said the people in the rich 
nouso on the banks of the Nile, where the royal lord lay in 
the open hall on the downy cushions, covered with a leopard 
skin, not alive and yet not dead, but waiting and hoping 
lor the lotus-flower from the deep moorland in the far North. 
Fi’iends and servants stood around his couch. 

And into the hall flew two beauteous swar s. They had 


284 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


conio with the storks. They threw ofT their dazzling white 
plumage, and two lovely female forms were revealed, as 
like each other as two dewdrops. They bent over the old, 
pale, sick man, they put back their long hair, and while 
Helga bent over her grandfather, his white cheeks red* 
dened, his eyes brightened, and life came back to his wasted 
limbs. The old man rose up cheerful and well; and daugh- 
ter and grand-daughter embraced him joyfully, as if they 
were giving him a morning greeting after a long, heavy 
dream. 

And joy reigned through the whole house, and likewise 
in the stork’s nest, though there the chief cause was cer- 
tainly the good food, especially the numberless frogs, wliich 
seemed to spring up in heaps out of the ground; and while 
the learned men wrote down hastily, in flying characters, a 
sketch of the history of the two princesses, and of the flower 
of health that had been a source of joy for the home and 
the land, the stork pair told the story to their family in 
their own fashion, but not till all had eaten their fill, other- 
wise the youngsters would have found something more in- 
teresting to df) than to listen to stories. 

“ Now, at last, you will become something,” whispered 
stork-mamma; “ there’s no doubt about that.” 

“What should I become?” asked stork-papa. “What 
have 1 done ? Nothing at all !” 

“ You have done more than the rest I But for you and 
the youngsters the two princesses would never have seen 
Egypt again, or have effected the old man’s cure. You will 
turn out something I They must certainly give you a doc- 
tor’s degree, and our youngsters will inherit it, and so will 
their children after them, and so on. You already look like 
an Egyptian doctor; at least in my eyes.” 

“ I cannot quite repeat the words as they were spoken,’' 


THE MAESH KING’S DAUGHTEE. 


285 


stork-papa, who had listened from the root to the re- 
port of these events, made by the learned men, and was 
now telling’ it ag'ain to his own family. “ What they said 
was so confused, it was so wise and learned, that they im- 
mediately received rank and presents — even the head cook 
received an especial mark of distinction — probably for the 
soup.” 

And what did you receive ?” asked stork-mamma. 
“ Surely they ought not to forget the most important person 
of all, and you are certainly he I The learned men have 
done nothing throughout the whole affair but used their 
tongues; but you will doubtless receive what is due tn 
you.” 

Late in the night, when the gentle peace of sleep rested 
upon the now happy house, there was one who still watched. 
It was not stork-papa, though he stood upon one leg, and 
slept on guard — it was Helga who watched. She bowed 
herself forward over the balcony, and looked into the clear 
air, gazed at the great gleaming stars, greater and purer 
in their lustre than she had ever seen them in the North, 
and yet the same orbs. She thought of the Viking woman 
in the wild moorland, of the gentle eyes of her foster- 
mother, and of the tears which the kind soul had wept over 
the poor frog-child that now lived in splendor under the 
gleaming stars, in the beauteous spring air on the banks of 
the Nile. She thought of the love that dwelt in the breast 
of the heathen woman, the love that had been shown to a 
wretched creature, hateful in human form, and hideous in 
its transformation. ’ She looked at the gleaming stars, and 
thought of the glory that had shone upon the forehead of the 
dead man, when she flew with him through the forest and 
across the moorland; sounds passed through her memory, 
words she had heard pronounced as they rode onward, and 


286 


andeksen’s tales. 


■when slie was borne wandering' and trembling through the 
air, words from the great fountain of love that embraoeii 
all human kind. 

Yes, great things had been achieved and won 1 Day and 
night b(jautiful Helga was absorbed in the contemplation oi 
the great sum of her happiness, and stood in the contem- 
plation of it like a child that turns hurriedly from the giver 
to gaze on the splendors of the gifts it has received. She 
seemed to lose herself in the increasing happiness, in con- 
templation of what might come, of what would come. Had 
she not been borne by miracle to greater and greater bliss ? 
And in this idea she one day lost herself so completely, that 
she thought no more of the Giver. It was the exuberance 
of youthful courage, unfolding its wings for a bold flight I 
Her eyes were gleaming with courage, when suddenly a 
loud noise in the courtyard below recalled her thoughts from 
their wandering flight. There she saw two great ostriches 
running round rapidly in a narrow circle. Never before 
had she seen such creatures — great clumsy things they 
were, with wings that looked as if they had been clipped, 
and the birds themselves looking as if they had suflered 
violence of some kind; and now for the first time she heard 
the legend which the Egyptians tell of the ostrich. 

Once, they say, the ostriches were a beautiful, glorious 
race of birds, with strong large wings; and one evening 
the larger birds of the forest said to the ostrich, “ Brother, 
shall we fly to-morrow, God willing, to the river to drink 
And the ostrich answered, “ I will.” At daybreak, accord- 
ingly, they winged their flight from thence, flying first up 
on high, towards the sun, that gleamed like the eye of God 
— higher and higher, the ostrich far in advance of all the 
other birds. Proudly the ostrich flew straight towards the 
light, boasting of his strength, and not thinking of the 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 


287 


Giver, or sayings “ Good willing !” Then suddenly the 
avenging angel drew aside the veil from the flaming ocean 
of sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird 
were scorched and shrivelled up, and he sank miserably t« 
the ground. Since that time, the ostrich has never again 
been able to raise himself in the air, but flees timidly along 
the ground, and runs round in a narrow circle. And this is 
a warning for us men, that in all our thoughts and schemes, 
in all our doings and devices, we should say, “ God willing.^' 
And Helga bowed her head thoughtfully and gravely, and 
looked at the circling ostrich, noticing its timid fear, and 
its stupid pleasure at sight of its own great shadow cast 
upon the white sunlit wall. And seriousness struck its 
roots deep into her mind and heart. A rich life in present 
and future happiness was given and won. And what was yet 
to come ? The best of all, “ God willing^ 

In early spring, when the storks flew again towards the 
North, beautiful Helga took off* her golden bracelet, and 
scratched her name upon it ; and beckoning to the stork- 
father, she placed the golden hoop around his neck, and 
begged him to deliver it to the Viking woman, so that the 
latter might see that her adopted daughter was well, and 
had not forgotten her. 

“ That’s heavy to carry,” thought the stork-papa, when he 
had the golden ring round his neck; “but gold and honor 
are not to be flung into the street. The stork brings good 
fortune; they’ll be obliged to acknowledge that over yonder.” 

“ You lay gold and I lay eggs,” said the stork-mamma. 
“ But with you it’s only once in a way, whereas I lay eggs 
every year ; but neither of us is appreciated — that’s very 
disheartening.” 

“ Still one has one’s inward consciousness, mother,” re- 
plied stork-papa. 


288 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


‘‘But you caii^t hang that round your neck/’ stork -mamma 
retorted ; “ and it won’t give you a good wind or a good 
meal.” 

The little nightingale, singing yonder in the tamarind- 
tree, will soon be going north too. Helga the fair had often 
heard the sweet bird sing up yonder by the wild moor; now 
she wanted to give it a message to carry, for she had 
learned the language of birds when she flew in the swan’s 
plumage ; she had often conversed with stork and with 
swallow, and she knew the nightingale would understand 
her. So she begged the little bird to fly to the beech-wood, 
on the peninsula of Jutland, where the grave-hill had been 
reared with stones and branches, and begged the nightin- 
gale to persuade all other little birds that they might build 
their nests around the place, so that the song of birds 
should resound over that sepulchre for evermore. , And the 
nightingale flew away — and time flew away. 

In autumn the eagle stood upon the pyramid and saw a 
stately train of rich laden camels approaching, and richly 
attired armed men on foaming Arab steeds, shining white 
as silver, with pink trembling nostrils, and great thick 
manes hanging down almost over their slender legs. 
Wealthy guests, a royal prince of Arabia, handsome as a 
prince should be, came into the proud mansion on whose 
roof the stork’s nest now stood empty ; those who had in- 
habited the nest were away now, in the far north ; but they 
would soon return. And, indeed, they returned on that 
very day that was so rich in joy and gladness. Here a 
marriage was celebrated, and fair Helga was the bride, shin- 
ing in jewels and silk. The bridegroom was the young Arab 
prince, and bride and bridegroom sat together at the upper 
end of the table, between the mother and grandfather. 

But her gaze was not fixed upon the bridegroom, with 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER. 289 

bis manly sun-browned cheeks, round which a black beard 
curled ; she gazed not at his dark hery eyes, that were 
fixed upon her — but far away at a gleaming star that shone 
down from the sky. 

Then stiong wings were heard beating the air. The 
storks were coming home, and however tired the old stork 
pair might be. from the journey, and however much they 
needed repose, they did not fail to come down at once to 
the balustrades of the verandah j for they knew what feast 
was being celebrated. Already on the frontier of the land 
they had beard that Helga had caused their figures to be 
painted on the wall — for did they not belong to her his- 
tory ? 

“ ThaUs very pretty and suggestive,” said the stork- 
papa. 

“ But it’s very little,” observed stork-mamma. “ They 
could not possibly have done less.” 

And when Helga saw them, she rose and came on to the 
verandah, to stroke the backs of the storks. The old pair 
waved their heads and bowed their necks, and even the 
youngest among the young ones felt highly honored by the 
reception. 

And Helga looked up to the gleaming star, which seemed 
to glow purer and purer ; and between the star and herself 
there floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through 
it : it floated quite close to her. It was the spirit of the 
dead Christian priest ; he too was coming to her wedding 
feast — coming from heaven. 

“ The glory and brightness yonder outshines every thing 
that is known on earth I” he said. 

And fair Helga begged so fervently, so beseechingly, as 
she had never yet prayed, that it might be permitted her 
to gaze in there for one single moment, that she might be 
T 13 


290 


andeksen’s tales. 


allowed to cast but a single glance into the brightness that 
beamed in the kingdom. 

Then he bore her up amid splendor and glory. Not only 
around her, but within her, sounded voices and beamed a 
brightness that words cannot express. 

“ Now we must go back; thou wilt be missed,” he said. 

“ Only one more look 1” she begged. “ But one shoi t 
minute more I” 

“We must go back to the earth. The guests will all de 
part.” 

“ Only one more look — the last.” 

And Helga stood again in the verandah; but the mar- 
riage lights without had vanished, and the lamps in the 
hall were extinguished, and the storks were gone — nowhere 
a guest to be seen — no bridegroom — all seemed to have 
been swept away in those few short minutes ! 

Then a great dread came upon her. Alone she went 
through the empty great hall into the next chamber. 
Strange warriors slept yonder. She opened a side door 
which led into her own chamber; and, as she thought to 
step in there, she suddenly found herself in the garden; 
but yet it had not looked thus here before — the sky gleamed 
red — ^the morning dawn was come. 

Three minutes only in heaven and a whole night on 
earth had passed away I 

Then she saw the storks again. She called to them 
spoke their language; and stork-papa turned his head to 
wards her, listened to her words, and drew near. 

“ You speak our language,” he said ; “ what do yon 
wish ? Why do you appear here — you, a strange woman ?” 

“ It is I — it is Helga — dost thou not know me ? Three 
minutes ago we were speaking together yonder in the 
verandah I” 


THE MARSH KING S DAUGHTER. 


291 


** That’s a mistake,” said the stork ; you must have 
dreamt all that I” , 

“ No, no I” she persisted. And she reminded him of the 
Viking’s castle, and of the great ocean, and of the journey 
hither. 

Then stork-papa winked with his eyes, and said: 

“ Why, that’s an old story, which I heard from the time 
of my great-grandfather. There certainl}" was here in 
Eg^'^pt a princess of that kind from the Danish land, but she 
vanished on the evening of her wedding-day, many hun- 
dred years ago, and never came back I You may read 
about it yourself yonder on the monument in the garden; 
there you’ll find swans and storks sculptured, and at the 
top you are yourself in white marble I” 

And thus it was. Helga saw it, and understood it, and 
sank on her knees. 

The sun burst forth in glory; and as, in time of yore, the 
frog-shape had vanished in its beams, and the beautiful 
form had stood displayed, so now in the light a beauteous 
form, clearer, purer than air — a beam of brightness— flew 
up into heaven I 

The body crumbled to dust ; and a faded lotus-flower lay 
on the spot where Helga had stood. 

“ Well, that’s a new ending to the story,” said stork- 
papa. “ I had certainly not expected it. But 1 like it very 
well.” 

“ But what will the young ones say to it ?” said storks 
mamma. 

Yes, certainly, that’s the important point,” replied he. 


202 


anbeesen’s tales. 


THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK-TRER 

A CHRISTMAS TALE. 

In the forest high up on the steep shore, hard by the 
open sea-coast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was exactly 
three hundred and sixty-five years old, but that long time 
was not more for the tree than just as many days would be 
to us men. We wake by day and sleep through the night, 
and then we have our dreams : it is different with the tree, 
which keeps awake through three seasons of the year, and 
does not get its sleep till winter comes. Winter is its time 
for rest, its night after the long day which is called spring, 
summer, and autumn. 

On many a warm summer day the ephemera, the fly that 
lives but for a day, had danced around his crown — had 
lived, enjoyed, and felt happy; and then rested for a mo- 
ment in quiet bliss the tiny creature, on one of the great 
fresh oak-leaves; and then tlie tree always said: 

“ Poor little thing ! Your whole life is but a single day I 
How very short 1 IPs quite melancholy I” 

“ Melancholy I Why do you say that ?” the ephemera 
would then always reply. “ It is wonderfully bright, warm, 
and beautiful all around me, and that makes me rejoice 1” 

“ But only one day, and then iPs all done 1” 

“ Done repeated the ephemera. “ WhaPs the meaning 
of done ? Are you done, too ?” 

“ No ; I shall perhaps live for thousands of your days, 
and my day is whole seasons long I IPs something so 
long, that you can’t at all manage to reckon it out.” 

“ No ? then I don’t understand you You say you have 


THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK-TREE. 203 

thousands of my days; but I have thousands of moments, 
in which I can be merry and happy. Does all the beauty 
of this world cease when you die ?” 

“No,” replied the Tree; “it will certainly last mtich 
longer — far longer than I can possibly think.” 

“ Well, then, we have the same time, only that W0 
••eckon differently.” 

And the Ephemera danced and floated in the air, and re- 
joiced in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, and rejoiced 
in the balmy breezes laden with the fragrance of meadows 
and of wild-roses and elder-flowers, of the garden hedges, 
wild thyme, and mint, and daisies ; the scent of these was 
all so strong that the Ephemera was almost intoxicated. 
The day was long and beautiful, full of joy and of sweet 
feeling, and when the sun sank low the little fly felt very 
agreeably tired of all its happiness and enjoyment. The 
delicate wings would not carry it any more, and quietly and 
slowly it glided down upon the soft grass-blade, nodded its 
head as well as it could nod, and went quitely to sleep — ■ 
and was dead. 

“ Poor little Ephemera I” said the Oak. “ That was a 
terribly short life I” 

And on every summer day the same dance was repeated, 
the same question and answer, and the same sleep. The 
same thing was repeated through whole generations of 
ephemera, all of them felt equally merry and equally happy. 

The Oak stood there awake through the spring morning, 
the noon of summer, and the evening of autumn ; and its 
time of rest, its night, was coming on apace. Winter waa 
approaching. 

Already the storms were singing their “ good-nigl.t, 
good -night I” Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. 

“ We’ll rock you, and dandle you I Go to sleep, go to 


294 : 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


sleep ! We sing you to sleep, we shake you to sleep, but it 
does you good in your old twigs, does it not ? They seem 
to crack for very joy I Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly ! It's 
your three hundred and sixty-fifth night. Properly speak- 
ing, you're only a stripling as yet I Sleep sweetly ! The 
clouds strew down snow, there will be quite a coverlet, 
warm and protecting, around your feet. Sweet sleep to 
you, and pleasant dreams I" 

And the Oak-Tree stood there, denuded of all its leaves, 
to sleep through the long winter, and to dream many a 
dream, always about something that had happened to it— 
just as in the dreams of men. 

The great Oak had once been small — indeed, an acorn had 
been its cradle. According to human computation, it was 
now in its fourth century. It was the greatest and best 
tree in the forest ; its crown towered far above all the other 
trees, and could be descried from afar across the sea, so 
that it served as a landmark to the sailors : the tree had no 
idea how many eyes were in the habit of seeking it. High 
up in its green summit the wood-pigeon built her nest, and 
the cuckoo sat in its boughts, and sang his song ; and in 
autumn, when the leaves looked like thin plates of copper, 
the birds of passage came and rested there, before they 
flew away across the sea ; but now it was winter, and the 
tree stood there leafless, so that every one could see how 
gnarled and crooked the branches were that shot forth from 
its trunk. Crows and rooks came and took their seat by 
turns in the boughs, and spoke of the hard times which 
were beginning, and of the difficulty of getting a living in 
winter. 

It was just at the holy Christmas time, when the tree 
dreamed its most glorious dream. 

The tree had a distinct feeling of the festive time, and 


THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK TKEE. 205 


fancied lie heard the bells ringing from the churches all 
around ; and yet it seemed as if it were a fine summer’s 
day, mild and warm. Fresh and green he spread out his 
mighty crown ; the sunbeams played among the twigs and 
the leaves ; the air was full of the fragrance of herbs and 
blossoms ; gay butterflies chased each other to and fro 
The ephemeral insects danced as if all the world were 
created merely for them to dance and be merry in. All 
that the tree had experienced for years and years, and that 
had happened around him, seemed to pass by him again, as 
in a festive pageant. He saw the knights of ancient days 
ride by with their noble dames on gallant steeds, with 
plumes waving in their bonnets and falcons on their wrists. 
The hunting-horn sounded, and the dogs barked. He saw 
hostile warriors in colored jerkins and with shining weapons, 
with spear and halbert, pitching their tents and striking 
them again. The watch-fires flamed up anew, and men 
sang and slept under the branches of the tree. He saw 
loving couples meeting near his trunk, happily, in the 
moonshine ; and they cut the initials of their names in the 
gray-green bark of his stem. Once — but long years had 
rolled by since then — citherns and .^olian harps had been 
hung up on his boughs by merry wanderers; and now they 
hung there again, and once again they sounded in tones of 
marvellous sweetness. The wood-pigeons cooed, as if they 
were telling what the tree felt in all this, and the cuckoo called 
out to tell him how jnany summer days he had yet to live. 

Then it appeared to him as if new life were rippling down 
into the remotest fibre of his root, and mounting up into hia 
highest branches, to the tops of the leaves. The tree felt 
that he was stretching and spreading himself, and through 
nis root he felt that there was life and motion even in the 
ground itself. He felt his strength increase, he grew higher, 


296 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


his stem shot up unceasingly, and he grew more and more, 
his crown became fuller, and spread out ; and in proportion 
as the tree grew, he felt his happiness increase, and his 
joyous hope that he should reach even higher — quite up to 
the warm brilliant sun. 

Already had he grown high above the clouds, which 
floated past beneath his crown like dark troops of passage- 
birds, or like great white swans. And every leaf of the 
tree had the gift of sight, as if it had eyes wherewith to 
see; the stars became visible in broad daylight, great and 
sparkling; each of them sparkled like a pair of eyes, mild 
and clear. They recalled to his memory well-known gentle 
eyes, eyes of children, eyes of lovers who had met beneath 
his boughs. 

It was a marvellous spectacle, and one full of happiness 
and joy I And yet amid all this happiness the tree felt a 
longing, a yearning desire that all other trees of the wood 
beneath him, and all the bushes, and herbs, and flowers, 
might be able to rise with him, that they too might see 
this splendor, and experience this joy. The great majestic 
oak was not quite happy in his happiness, while he had not 
them all, great and little, about him; and this feeling of 
yearning trembled through his every twig, through his 
every leaf, warmly and fervently as through a human 
heart. 

The crown of the tree waved to and fro, as if he sougiit 
something in his silent longing, and he looked down. Then 
he felt the fragrance of thyme, and soon afterwards the 
more powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets ; and he 
fancied he heard the cuckoo answering him. 

Yes, through the clouds the green summits of the forest 
came peering up, and under himself the Oak saw the other 
trees, as they grew and raised themselves aloft. Bushes 


THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK-TREE. ^97 

and nerbs shot up high, and some tore themselves up bodily 
by the roots to rise the quicker. The birch was the 
quickest of ail. Like a white streak of lighthing, its slender 
stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, and the branches spread 
around it like green gauze and like banners; the whole wood* 
land natives, even to the brown-plumed rushes, grew up with 
the rest, and the birds came too, and sang; and on the 
grass blade that fluttered aloft like a long silk(‘n ribbon into 
the air, sat the grasshopper cleaning his wings with his legj 
the May beetles hummed, and the bees murmured, and 
every bird sang in his appointed manner ; all was song and 
sound of gladness up into the high heaven. 

“ But the little blue flower by the water-side, where ia 
that?’’ said the Oak; “and the purple bell-flower and the 
daisy ?” for, you see, the old Oak-Tree wanted to have 
them all about him. 

“We are here — we are here I” was shouted and sung in 
reply. 

“ But the beautiful thyme of last summer — andr in the 
last year there was certainly a place here covered with 
lilies of the valley I and the wild apple-tree that blossomed 
BO splendidly I and all the glory of the wood that came 
year by year — if that had only just been born, it might 
have been here now I” 

“We are here, we are here I” replied voices still higher 
in the air. It seemed as if they had flown on before. 

“ Why, that is beautiful, indescribably beautiful I” ex- 
claimed the old Oak-Tree, rejoicingly. “ I have them all 
around me, great and small; not one has been forgotten I 
How can so much happiness be imagined ? How can it be 
possible ?” 

“ In heaven, in the better land, it can be imagined, and it 
is possible 1” the reply sounded through the air. 

13 ^ 


S98 


Andersen’s tales. 


And the old tree, who grew on and on, felt how his rootf 
wore tearing themselves free from the ground. 

“ That’s right, that’s better than all ?” said the tix^e. 
“ Now no fetters hold me I I can fly up now, to the very 
highest, in glory and in light I And all my beloved ones 
are with me, great and small — all of them, all I” 

That was the dream of the old Oak-Tree; and while he 
dreamt thus a mighty storm came rushing over land and 
sea — at the holy Christmas-tide. The sea rolled great bil- 
lows towards the shore; there was a cracking and crashing 
in the tree — his root was torn out of the ground in the very 
moment while he was dreaming that his root freed itself 
from the earth. He fell. His three hundred and sixty-five 
years were now as the single day of the ephemera. 

On the morning of the Christmas festival, when the sun 
rose, the storm had subsided. From all the churches 
sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even from 
the smallest hut, arose the smoke in blue clouds, like the 
smoke ft'oin the altars of the druids of old at the feast of 
thanks-offerings. The sea became gradually calm, and on 
board a great ship in the offing, that had fought success- 
fullj^ with the tempest, all the flags were displayed, as a 
token of joy suitable to the festive day. 

“ The tree is down — the old Oak-Tree, our landmark on 
the coast 1” said the sailors. “ It fell in the storm of last 
night. Who can replace it? No one can.” 

This was the funeral oration, short but well meant, that 
was given to the tree, which lay stretched on the snowy 
covering on the sea-shore ; and over its prostrate form 
sounded the notes of a song from the ship, a carol of the 
joys of Christmas, and of the redemption of the soul of 
man by His blood, and of eternal life. 


THE EELL-EEEP. 


200 


“Sing, sing aloud, this blessed. morn — 

It is fulfilled — and He is born : 

Oh, joy without compare I 
Hallelujah 1 HaUelujahl” 

Thus soiuided tlie old psalm-tnnc, and every one on board 
Hie ship felt lifted up in his own way, through the song and 
Hie prayer, just as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, 
its most beauteous dream in the Christmas night. 


THE BELL-DEEP. 

Ding-dong ! ding-dong!” It sounds up from the “bell- 
deep,” in the Odense-Au. Every child in the old town of 
Odense, on the island of Funen, knows the Au, which 
washes the gardens round about the town, and flows on 
under the wooden bridges from the dam to the water-mill. 
In the Au grow the yellow w^ater-lilies and brown feathery 
reeds; the dark velvety flag grows there, high and thick; 
old, decayed willows, slanting and tottering, hang far out 
over the stream beside the monks’ meadow and by the 
bleaching-ground ; but opposite there are gardens upon 
gardens, each different from the rest, some with pretty 
flowers and bowers like little dolls’ pleasure-grounds, often 
displaying only cabbage and other kitchen plants; and here 
and there the gardens cannot be seen at all, for the great 
elder-trees that spread themselves out by the bank, and 
hang far out over the streaming waters, which are deeper 
here and there than an oar can fathom Opposite the old 
nunnery is the deepest place, which is called the “bclh 


300 


Andersen’s tales. 


deep,” and there dwells the old water-spirit, the “ Au-maiin.^ 
This spirit sleeps through the day wliile tlic sun shines 
down upon the water ; but in starry and moonlit nights he 
shows himself. He is very old : grandmother says that she 
has heard her own grandmother tell of him; he is said to lead 
a solitary life, and to have nobody with whom he can con- 
verse save the great old church-bell. Once the bell hung 
in the church tower; but now there is no trace left of the 
tower or of the church, which was called St. Alban’s. 

“Ding-dong I ding-dong !” sounded the bell, when the 
tower still stood there; and one evening, while the sun was 
setting, and the bell was swinging away bravely, it broke 
loose and came flying down through the air, the brilliant 
metal shining in the ruddy beam. 

“ Ding-dong 1 ding-dong 1 Now Pll retire to rest I” sang 
the bell, and flew down into the Odense-Au where it is 
deepest; and that is why the place is called the “ bell-deep.” 
But the bell got neither rest nor sleep. Do^/n in the Au- 
inann’s haunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones some- 
times pierce upward through the waters; and many people 
maintain that its strains forebode the death of some one ; 
but that is not true, for then the bell is only talking with 
the Au-mann, who is now no longer alone. 

And what is the bell telling ? It is old, very old, as we 
have already observed; it was there long before grand- 
mother’s grandmother was born; and yet \t is but a child in 
comparison with the Au-mann, who is an old quiet person- 
age, an oddity, with his hose of eel-ukiu, and his scaly 
jacket with the yellow lilies for butte ns, and a wreath of 
reed in his hair and seaweed in his beard; lut he looks very 
pretty for all that. 

What the bell tells ? To repeat it all wocld require years 
and days; for year by year it is telling the old stories, 


THE BELL-DEEP. 


301 


Bometimes short ones, sometimes long onefs, according to itii 
■whim; it tells of old times, of the dark, hard, times, thus: 

“ In the church of St. Alban, the monk moimted up into 
the tower. He was young and handsome, but thoughtful 
exceedingly. He looked through the loophole out up{»n the 
Odense-Au, when the bed of the water was yet broad, and the 
monks’ meadow was still a lake; he looked out over it, and 
over the rampart, and over the nuns’ hill opposite, wliere the 
convent lay, and the light gleamed forth from the nun’s 
cell; he had known the nun right well, and he thought of 
her, and his heart beat quicker as he thought. Ding-dong I 
ding-dong !” 

Yes, this was the story the bell told. 

“ Into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the 
bishop; and when I, the bell, who am made of metal, rang 
hard and loud, and swung to and fro, I might have beaten 
out his brains. He sat down close under me, and plajmd. 
with two little sticks as if the}" had been a stringed instru- 
ment; and he sang to it. ‘ Now I may sing it out aloud, 
though at other times I may not whisper it. I may sing of 
every thing that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. 
Yonder it is cold and wet. The rats are eating her up 
alive I Nobody knows of it I Nobody hears of it ! Not 
even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its loud ding- 
dong, ding-dong !’ 

“There was a king in those days; they called him Ca- 
nute. He bowed himself before bishop and monk; but 
when he offended the free peasants with heavy taxes and 
hard words, they seized their weapons and put him to 
flight like a wild beast. He sought shelter in the church, 
and shut gate and door behind him. The violent band sup 
rounded the church; I heard tell of it. The crows, ravens, 
and magpies started uj) in terror at the yelling and sh-uit- 


302 


Andersen’s tales. 


ing tliat sounded around. 'J’lKiy flew into the tower and 
out again, they looked down upon the throng below, and 
they also looked into the windows of the church, and 
screamed out aloud what they saw there. King Canute 
knelt before the altar in prayer, his brothers Eric and 
Benedict stood by him as a guard with drawn swords; but 
the king’s servant, the treacherous Blake, betrayed his 
master; the throng in front of the church knew where they 
could hit the king, and one of them flung a stone through a 
pane of glass, and the king lay there dead ! The cries and 
screams of the savage horde and of the birds sounded 
through the air, and I joined it also; for I sang ‘ Ding-dong 1 
ding-dong !’ 

“ The church-bell hangs high and looks far around, and 
sees the birds around it, and understands their language; 
the wind roars in upon it through windows and loopholes; 
and the wind knows every thing, for he gets it from the 
air, which encircles all things, and the church-bell under- 
stands his tongue, and rings it out into the world, ‘ Ding- 
dong ! ding-dong 1’ 

“ But it was too much for me to hear and to know; I was 
not able any longer to ring it out. I became so tired, so 
heavy, that the beam broke, and I flew out into the gleam- 
ing Au where the water is deepest, and where the Au-maiin 
lives solitary and alone; and year by year I tell him what 
1 have heard and what I know. Ding-dong 1 ding-dong I” 

Thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in the 
Odense-Au : that is what grandmother told us. 

But the schoolmaster says that there was not any bell 
that rung down there, for that it could not do so : and that 
no Au -mann dwelt yonder, for there was no Au-mann at all I 
And when all the other church-bells are sounding sweetly, 
he says that it is not really the bells that are sounding, but 


THE PUPPET SnOWMAH. 


803 


that it is the air itself which sends forth the notes ; and 
grandmother said to us that the bell itself said it was the 
air who told it him ; consequently they arc agreed on that 
point, and this much is sure. “ Be cautious, cautious, and 
take good heed to thyself,” they both say. 

The air knows every thing. It is around us, it is in us. 
it talks of our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks 
longer of them than does the bell down in the depths of the 
Odense-Au where the Au-mann dwells ; it rings it out into 
the vault of heaven, far, far out, forever and ever, till th« 
heaven bells sound “ Ding-dong ! ding-dong 1” 


THE PUPPET SHOWMAN. 

On board the steamer was an elderly man with such 
merry face that, if it did not belie him, he must have 
been tlie happiest fellow in creation. And, indeed, he de- 
clared he was the happiest man ; I heard it out of his own 
mouth. He was a Dane, a travelling theatre director. He 
had all his company with him in a large box, for he was 
proprietor of a puppet-show. His inborn cheerfulness, he 
said, had been purified by a Polytechnic candidate, and the 
experiment had made him completely happy. I did not at 
first understand all this, but afterwards he explained the 
whole story to me, and here it is. He told me : 

“ It was in the little town of Slagelse I gave a represen- 
tation in the hall of the posting-house, and had a brilliant 
audience, entirely a juvenile one, with the exception of two 
respectable matrons. All at once a person in black, of 
student-like appearance, came into the room and sat down ; 
ne laughed aloud at the telling-parts, and applauded quite 


304 


Andersen’s tales. 


appropriately. That was quite au unusual spectatoi fox 
me I I felt anxious to know who he was, and I heard 
he was a candidate for the Polytechnic Institution in Copen- 
hagen, who had been sent out to instruct the folks in the 
provinces. Punctually at eight o’clock my performance 
closed ; for children must go early to bed, and a manager 
must consult the convenience of his public. At nine o’clock 
the candidate commenced his lecture, with experiments, 
and now I formed part of his audience. It was wonderful 
to hear and to see. The greater part of it was beyond my 
scope ; but still it made me think that if we men can find 
out so much, we must be surely intended to last longer than 
the little span until we are hidden away in the earth. 
They were quite miracles in a small way that he showed, 
and yet every thing flowed as naturally as water I At the 
time of Moses and the prophets such a man would have 
been received among the sages of the land ; in the middle 
ages they would have burned him at a stake. All night 
long I could not go to sleep. And the next evening,' when 
I gave another performance, and the candidate was again 
present, I felt fairly overflowing with humor. I once heard 
from a player that when he acted a lover he always thought 
of one particular lady among the audience ; he only played 
for her, and forgot all the rest of the house ; and now 
the Polytechnic candidate was my ‘ she,’ my only auditor, 
for whom alone I played. And when the performance was 
over, all the puppets were called before the curtain, and the 
Polytechnic candidate invited me into his room to take a glass 
of wine ; and he spoke of my comedies and I of his science; 
and I believe we were both equally pleased. But I had the 
best of it, for there was much in what he did of which ho 
could not always give me an explanation. For instance, 
that a piece of iron that falls through a spiral should become 


THE PUPPET SHOWMAN. 


305 


magnetic. Now, how does that happen ? The spirit cornea 
upon it; but whence does it come? It is as with 

people in this world ; they are made to tumble through 

the spiral of this world, and the spirit comes upon them, 
and there stands a Napoleon, or a Luther, or a person of 
that kind. ‘ The whole world is a series of miracles,’ said 
the candidate ; ‘ but we are so accustomed to them that we 
call them every-day matters.’ And he went on explaining 
things to me until my skull seemed lifted up over my 

biain, and I declared that if I were not an old fellow I 

would at once visit the Polytechnic Institution, that I might 
learn to look at the sunny side of the world, though I am 
one of the happiest of men. ‘ One of the happiest !’ said 
the candidate, and he seemed to take real pleasure in it. 

‘ Are you happy ?’ ‘ Yes,’ I replied, ‘ and they welcome mo 

in all the towns where I come with my company ; but I 
certainly have one wish, which sometimes lies like lead, like 
an Alp, upon my good-humor : I should like to become a 
real theatrical manager, the director of a real troupe 
of men and women !’ ‘ I see,’ he said, ‘ you would like to 

have life breathed into your puppets, so that they might be 
real actors, and you their director ; and would you then be 
quite happy ?’ He did not believe it; but I believed it, and 
we talked it over all manner of ways without coming any 
nearer to an agreement; but we clanked our glasses to- 
gether, and the wine was excellent. There was some magic 
in it, or I should certainly have become tipsy. But that 
did not happen ; I retained my clear view of things, and 
somehow there was sunshine in the room, and sunshine 
beamed out of the eyes of the polytechnic candidate. It 
made me think of the old stories of the gods, in their eter- 
nal youth, when they still wandered upon earth and paid 
visits to the mortals; and I said so to him, and he smiled. 

U 


S06 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


and I could have sworn he was one of the ancient gods in 
disguise, or that, at any rate, he belonged to the fainilj^ ! 
and certainly he must have been something of the kind, for 
my highest wish was to have been fulfilled, the puppets 
were to be gifted with life, and I was to be director of a 
real company. We drank to my success, and clinked our 
glasses. He packed all my dolls into a box, bound the box 
on my back, and then let me fall through a spiral. I lieard 
myself tumbling, and then I was lying on the floor — I know 
that quite well — and the whole company sprang out of the 
box. The spirit had come upon all of us: all the puppets 
nad become distinguished artists, so they said themselves, 
and I was the director. All was ready for the first repre- 
sentation; the whole company wanted to speak to me, and 
the public also. The dancing lady said the house would 
fall down if she did not keep it up by standing on one leg; 
for she was the great genius, and begged to be treated as 
such. The lady who acted the queen wished to be treated 
off the stage as a queen, or else she should get out of prac- 
tice. The man who was only employed to deliver a letter 
gave himself just as many airs as the first lover, for he de- 
clared the little ones were just as important as the great 
ones, and that all were of equal consequence, considered as 
an artistic whole. The hero would only play parts com- 
posed of nothing but points; for those brought him down 
the applause. The prima donna would only play in a red 
light; for she declared that a blue one did not suit her 
complexion. It was like a company of flies in a bottle ; and 
I was in the bottle with them, for I was the director. My 
breath stopped and my head whirled round; I was as mis- 
erable as a man can be. It was quite a novel kind of men 
among whom I now found myself. I only wished I had 
them all in the box again, and that I had never been a di 


THE PUPPET SHOWMAN. 


307 


rector at all; so I told them roundly that after all they 
were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. 1 
found myself lying on my bed in my room; and how I got 
fliere, and how I g)t away at all from the polytechnic can- 
didate, he may perhaps know, for I don’t. The moon shone 
upon the floor where the box lay open, and the dolls all in 
a confusion together — great and small all scattered about ; 
but I was not idle. Out of bed I jumped, and into the box 
they had all to go, some on their heads, some on their feet, 
and I shut down the lid and seated myself upon the box. 
‘Now you’ll just have to stay there,’ said I, ‘and I shall 
beware how I wish you flesh and blood again.’ I felt quite 
light; iny good-humor had come back, and I was the hap- 
piest of mortals. The polytechnic student had fully purified 
me. I sat as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the 
box. The next morning — strictly speaking it was noon, for 
I slept wonderfully late that day — I was still sitting there, 
happy and conscious that my former vvish had been a fool- 
ish one. I inquired for the polytechnic candidate, but he 
was gone, like the G-reek and Roman gods; and from that 
time I’ve been the happiest of men. I am a happy direc- 
tor: none of my company ever grumble, nor my public 
either, for they are always merry. I can put my pieces to- 
gether just as I please. I take out of every comedy what 
pleases me best, and no one is angry at it. Pieces that 
are neglected now-a-days by the great public, but which 
it used to run after thirty years ago, and at which it used 
to cry till the tears ran down its cheeks, these pieces I now 
take up; I put them before the little (mes, and the little 
ones cry just as papa and mamma used to cry thirty years 
ago; but I shorten them, for the youngsters don’t like a 
long palaver; what they want is something mournful, but 
quick.” 


808 


Andersen’s, tales. 


THE PIGS. 

Charles Pickens once told us about a pig, and since thaS 
time we are in a good humor if we only hear one grunt. 
St. Anthony took the pig under his protection; and when 
we think of the prodigal son we- always associate with him 
the idea of feeding swine; and it was in front of a pig-sty 
that a certain carriage stopped in Sweden, about which I 
am going to talk. The farmer had his pig-sty built out 
towards the high-road, close by his house, and it was a 
wonderful pig-sty. It was an old state carriage. The 
seats had been taken out and the wheels taken off, and so 
the body of the old coach lay on the ground, and four pigs 
were shut up inside it. I wonder if these were the first 
that had ever been there ? That point could not certainly 
be determined; but that it had been a real state coach 
every thing bore witness, even to the damask rag that 
hung down from the roof ; every thing spoke of better 
days. 

“ Humph I humph 1” said the occupants, and the coach 
creaked and groaned; for it had come to a mournful end. 

The beautiful has departed,” it sighed — or at least it 
might have done so. 

We came back in autumn. The coach was there still, but 
the pigs were gone. They were playing the grand lords 
out in the woods. Blossoms and leaves were gone from all 
the trees, and storm and rain ruled, and gave them neither 
peace nor rest; and tln^ birds of passage had flown. “The 
beautiful has departed I This was the glorious green- 
wood, but the song of the birds and the warm sunshine are 
gone ! gone I” Thus said the mournful voice that creaked 


THE PIGS. 


309 


in the lofty brandies of the trees, and it sounded like a 
deep-drawn sigh, a sigh from the bosom of the wild-rose 
tree, and of him who sat there; it was the rose-king. Do 
5 mu know him ? He is all beard, the finest reddish-green 
beard; he is easily recognized. Go up to the wild-rose 
bushes, and when in autumn all the .flowers have faded from 
them, and only the wild hips remain, you will often find 
under them a great red-green moss-flower; and that is the 
rose-king. A little green leaf grows up out of his head, 
ana that's his feather. He is the only man of his kind on 
the rose-bush; and he it was who sighed. 

“ Gone I gone ! The beautiful is gone I The roses have 
faded, and the leaves fallen down 1 It's wet here I it's 
boisterous here I The birds who used to sing are dumb, 
and the pigs go out hunting for acorns, and the pigs are 
the lords of the forest !" 

The niglits were cold and the days were misty ; but, for 
all that, the raven sat on the branch and sang, “ Good I 
good 1" Raven and crow sat on the high bough ; and they 
had a large family, who all said, “ Good I good I" and the 
majority is always right. 

Under the high trees, in the hollow, was a great puddle, 
and here the pigs reclined, great and small. They found 
the place so inexpressibly lovely I “ Oui I oui I" they all 
exclaimed. That was all the French they knew, but even 
that was something ; and they were so clever and so fat ! 

The old ones lay quite still, and reflected ; the young 
ones were very busy, and were not quiet a moment. One 
little porker had a twist in his tail like a ring, and this ring 
was his mother's pride ; she thought all the rest were looking 
at the ring, and thinking only of the ring : but that thej 
were not doing ; they were thinking of themselves and of 
what was useful, and what was the use of the wood 


310 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


They had always heard that the acorns they ate giew at 
the roots of the trees, and accordingly they had grubbed 
up the ground ; but there came quite a little pig — it’s 
always the young ones who come out with their new- 
fangled notions — who declared that the acmms fell down 
from the branches, for one had just fallen down on his head, 
and the idea had struck him at once ; afterwards he had 
made observations, and now was quite certain on the point. 
The old ones put their heads together. “ Umph 1” they 
said, “umph I The glory has departed : the twittering of 
the birds is all over : we want fruit ; whatever is good to 
eat is good, and we eat every thing.” 

“ Old I oui I” chimed in all the rest. 

But the mother now looked at her little porker, the one 
with the ring in his tail. “ One must not overlook the 
beautiful,” she said. “ Good I good 1” cried the crow, and 
flew down from the tree to try and get an appointment as 
nightingale ; for some one must be appointed ; and the 
crow obtained the ofiBce directly. 

“ Gone I gone I” sighed the rose-king. “ All the beauti- 
ful is gone I” 

It was boisterous, it was gray, cold, and windy ; and 
through the forest and over the field swept the rain in long 
dark streaks. Where is the bird who sang, where are 
the flowers upon the meadow, and the sweet berries of tho 
wood ! Gone 1 gone I 

Then a light gleamed from the forester’s house. It was 
lit up like a star, and threw its long ray among the trees. 
A song sounded forth out of the house! Beautiful children 
pi ayed there around the old grandfather. Ee sat with the Bible 
on his knee, and re id of the Creator and of a better world, 
and spoke of spring that would return, of the forest that 
would array itself in fresh green, of the roses that would 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 31 1 

bloom, the nightingale that would sing, and of the beautiful 
that would reign in its glory again. 

But the rose-king heard it not, for he sat in the cold, 
damp weather, and sighed, “Gone! gone!” And the pigs 
were the lords of the forest, and the old mother-sow looked 
proudly at her little porker with the twist in his tail. 
“There is always somebody who has a soul for the beauti- 
ful !” she said. 


A STOEY FEOM THE SAND-DUNES. 

This is a story from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of J iit- 
land ; though it does not begin in Jutland, the northern 
peninsula, but far away in the south, in Spain. The ocean 
is the high-road between the nations — transport thyself 
thither in thought to sunny Spain. There it is warm and 
beautiful, there the fiery pomegranate-blossoms flourish 
among the dark laurels; from the mountains a cool refresh- 
ing wind blows down upon and over the orange-gardens, 
over the gorgeous Moorish halls with their golden cupolas 
and colored walls : through the streets go children in pro- 
cession, with candles and with waving flags, and over them, 
lofty and clear, rises the sky with its gleaming stars. There 
is a sound of song and of castanets, and youths and 
maidens join in the dance under the blooming acacias, while 
the mendicant sits upon the hewn marble stone, refreshing 
himself with the juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. 
The whole is like a glorious dream. And there was a newly- 
married couple who completely gave themselves up to its 
charm ; moreover, they possessed the good things of this 
life, health and cheerfulness of soul, riches and honor. 


31-2 


Andersen’s tales. 


“ We are as liappy as it is possible to be/’ exclaimed tlic 
young couple, from the depths of tlieir hearts. They had 
indeed but one step more to mount in the ladder of happh 
nese, in the hope that God would give them a child; a son 
like them in form and in spirit. 

The happy child would be welcomed with rejoicing, would 
be tended with all care and love, and enjoy every advantage 
that wealth and ease possessed by an influential family 
could give. 

And the days went by like a glad festival. 

“ Life is a gracious gift of Providence, an almost inap- 
preciable gift I” said the young wife, “ and yet they tell us 
that fulness of joy is found only in the future life, forever 
and ever. I cannot compass the thought.” 

“ And perhaps the thought arises from the arrogance of 
men,” said the husband. “ It seems a great pride to believe 
that we shall live forever, that we shall be as gods. Were 
these not the words of the serpent, the origin of false- 
hood ?” 

“ Surely jmu do not doubt the future life ?” exclaimed the 
young wife ; and it seemed as if one of the first shadows 
flitted over the sunny heaven of her thoughts. 

“ Faith promises it, and the priests tell us so 1” replied 
the man ; “ but amid all my happiness, I feel that it is 
arrogance to demand a continued happiness, another life 
after this. Has not so much been given us in this state of 
existence, that we ought to be, that we must be, contented 
with it ?” 

“ Yes, it has been given to tis,” said the young wife, but 
t/-) how many thousands is not this life one scene of hard 
trial I How many have been thrown into this world, as if 
only to suffer poverty and shame and sickness and misfor- 
tune ! If there were no life after this, every thing on earth 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


313 


would be too unequally distributed, and the Almighty would 
not be justice itself.” 

“Yonder beggar,” replied the man, “has his joys which 
seem to him great, and which rejoice him as much as the 
ting is rejoicedvdn the splendor of his palace. And then, do 
yea not think that the beast of burden, which suffers blows 
and hunger, and works itself to death, suffers from its 
heavy fate? The dumb beast might likewise demand a 
future life, and declare the decree unjust that does not admit 
it into a higher place of creation.” 

“ He has said, ‘ In my Father’s house are many man- 
sions,’” replied the young wife : “heaven is immeasurable, 
as the love of our Maker is immeasurable. Even the dumb 
beast is His creature; and I firmly believe that no life will 
be lost, but that each will receive that amount of happi- 
ness which he can enjoy, and which is sufficient for him.” 

“ This world is sufficient for me I” said the man, and he 
threw his arms round his beautiful, amiable wife, and then 
smoked his cigarette on the open balcony, where the cool 
air was filled with the fragrance of oranges and pinks. 
The sound of music and the clatter of castanets came up 
from the road, the stars gleamed above, and two eyes full 
of affection, the eyes of his wife, looked on him with the 
undying glance of love. 

“ Such a moment,” he said, “ makes it worth while to be 
born, to fall, and to disappear I” and he smiled. The young 
wife raised her hand in mild reproach, and the shadow 
passed away from her world, and they were happy — quite 
happy. 

Every thing seemed to work together for them. They 
advanced in honor, in prosperity, and in joy. There was a 
change, indeed, but only a change of place ; not in enjoy- 
ment of life and of happiness. The young man was sent 

14 


814 


ANDERSEIS’S TALES. 


by his sovereign as ambassador to the court of Russia 
This was an honorable office, and his birth and his acquire- 
ments gave him a title to be thus honored. He possessed 
a great fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal 
to his own, for she was the daughter of a rich and respected 
merchant. One of this merchant's largest and finest ships 
v\ cts to be dispatched during that year to Stockholm, and it 
was arranged that the dear young people, the daughter and 
the son-in-law, should travel in it to St. Petersburg. And 
all the arrangements on board were princely — rich carpets 
for the feet, and silk and luxury on all sides. 

In an old heroic song, “ The King^s Son of England,” it 
says, “ Moreover, he sailed in a gallant ship, and the anchor 
was gilded with ruddy gold, and each rope was woven 
through with silk.” And this ship involuntarily rose in the 
mind of him who saw the vessel from Spain, for here was 
the same pomp, and the same parting thought naturally 
arose — the thought : 


“ God grant that we all in joy 
Once more may meet again.” 

And the wind blew fairly seaward from the Spanish shoitj, 
and the parting was to be but a brief one, for in a few 
weeks the voyagers would reach their destination ; but 
when they came out upon the high seas, the wind sank, the 
sea became calm and shining, the stars of heaven gleamed 
brightly, and they were festive evenings that were spent 
in the sumptuous cabin. 

At length the voyagers began to wish for wind, for a 
favoring breeze; but the breeze would not blow, or, if it 
did arise, it was contrary. Thus weeks passed away, two 
full months; and then at last the fair wind blew — it l>lcw 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DCT^ES. 


315 


from the southwest The ship sailed on the high seas be- 
tween Scotland and Jutland, and the wind increased just as 
in the old song of “ The King’s Son of England 

“ And it blew a storm, and the rain came down, 

And they found not land nor shelter, 

And forth they threw their anchor of gold, 

As the wind blew westward, towards Denmark.” 

This all happened a long, long while ago. King Christian 
VIT. then sat on the Danish throne, and he was still a young 
man. Much has happened since that time, much has 
changed or has been changed. Sea and moorland have been 
converted into green meadows, heath has become arable 
land, and in the shelter of the West Jute huts grow apple- 
trees and rose bushes, though they certainly require to be 
sought for, as they bend beneatn the sharp west wind. In 
Western Jutland one may go back in thought to the old 
times, further back than the days when Christian VII. boro 
rule. As it did then, in Jutland, the brown heath now also 
extends for miles, with its “ Huns’ Graves,” its aerial 
spectacles, and its crossing, sandy, uneven roads ; west- 
ward, where large rivulets run into the bays, extend 
marshes and meadow-land, girdled with lofty sand-hills, 
which, like a row of Alps, raise their peaked summits 
towards the sea, only broken by the high clayey ridges, from 
which the waves, year by year, bite out huge mouthfuls, so 
that the impending shores fall down as if by the shock of 
an earthquake. Thus it is there to-day, and thus it was 
many, many years ago, when the happy pair were sailing* in 
the gorgeous ship 

It was in the last days of September, a Sunday, and sunny 
weather ; the chiming of the church-bells in the bay of Nis 
sum was wafted along like a chain of sounds. The churches 
there are erected almost entirely of hewn boulder stones, 


816 


Andersen’s tales. 


each like a piece of rock ; the North Sea might foam cvct 
them, and they would not be overthrown. Most of them 
are without steeples, and the bells are hung between two 
beams in the open air. The service was over, and the con- 
gregation thronged out into the churchyard, where then, as 
now, not a tree nor a brush was to be seen ; not a single 
flower had been planted there, nor had a wreath been laid 
upon the graves. Rough mounds show where the dead had 
been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows 
thickly over the whole churchyard. Here and there a grave 
had a monument to show, in the shape of a half-decayed 
block of wood rudely shaped into the form of a coflSn, the 
said block having been brought from the forest of West 
Jutland ; but the forest of West Jutland is the wild sea it- 
self, where the inhabitants find the hewn beams and planks 
and fragments which the breakers cast ashore. The wind 
and the sea-fog soon destroy the wood. One of these blocks 
had been placed by loving hands on a child’s grave, and one 
of the women, who had come out of the church, stepped to- 
wards it. She stood still in front of it, and let her glance 
rest on the discolored memorial. A few moments after- 
wards her husband stepped up to her. Neither of them 
spoke a word, but he took her hand, and they wandered 
across the brown heath, over moor and meadow, towards 
the sand-hills ; for a long time they thus walked silently 
side by side. 

“ That was a good sermon to-day,” the man said at 
length. “If we had not God to look to, we should have 
nothing I” 

“ Yes,” observed the woman, “ He semds joy and sorrow, 
and He has a right to send them. To-morrow our little boy 
would have been five years old, if we had been allowed to 
keep him ” 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


817 


** You will g'aiii nothing’ by fretting, wife,” said the man, 
“The boy is well provided for. He is there whither we 
pray to go.” 

And they said nothing more, but went forward to theii 
house among the sand-hills. Suddenly, in front of one of 
the houses where the sea-grass did not keep the sand down 
with its twining roots, there arose what appeared to be a 
column of smoke rising into the air. A gust of wind swept 
in among the hills, whirling the particles of sand high in 
the air. Another, and the strings of fish hung up to dry 
flapped and beat violently against the wall of the hut ; and 
then all was still again, and the sun shone down hotly. 

Man and wife stepped into the house. They had soon 
taken off their Sunday clothes, and emerging again, they 
hurried away over the dunes^ which stood there like huge 
waves of sand suddenly arrested in their course, while the 
sand-weeds and the dune-grass, with its bluish stalks, spread 
a changing color over them. A few neighbors came up, 
and helped one another to draw the boats higher up on the 
sand. The wind now blew more sharply than before ; it 
was cutting and cold : and when they went back over the 
sand-hills, sand and little pointed stones blew into their 
faces. The waves reared themselves up with their white 
crowns of foam, and the wind cut ofi* their crests, flinging 
the foam far around. 

The evening came on. In the air was a swelling roar, 
moaning and complaining like a troop of despairing spirits, 
that sounded above the hoarse rolling of the sea ; for the 
fisher’s little hut was on the very margin. The sand rattled 
against the window-panes, and every now and then came 
a violent gust of wind, that shook the house to its founda- 
tions. It was dark, but towards midnight the moon would 
rise. 


318 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


The air became clearer, but the storm swept iu all its gi- 
gantic force over the perturbed sea. The fishor-people had 
long gone to bed, but in such weather there was no chance 
of closing an eye. Presently there was a knocking at the 
window, and the door was opened, and a voice said : 

“ There’s a great ship fast stranded on the outermost reef” 

In a moment the fish-people had sprung from their couch, 
and hastily arrayed themselves. 

The moon had risen, it was light enough to make the 
surrounding objects visible, to those who could open their 
eyes for the blinding clouds of sand. The violence of the 
wind was terrible ; and only by creeping forward between 
the gusts was it possible to pass among the sand-hills ; and 
now the salt spray flew up from the sea like down, while the 
ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the beach. It 
required a practiced eye to descry the vessel out in the 
oflSug. The vessel was a noble brig. The billows now 
lifted it over the reef, three or four cables’ length out of 
the usual channel. It drove towards the land, struck 
against the second reef, and remained fixed. 

To render assistance was impossible ; the sea rolled fairly 
in upon the vessel, making a clean breach over her. Those 
on shore fancied they heard the cries of help from on board, 
and could plainly descry the busy useless eflbrts made by 
the stranded crew. Now a wave came rolling onward, fall- 
ing like a rock upon the bowsprit, and tearing it from the 
brig. The stern was lifted high above the flood. Two peo- 
ple were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea; 
in a moment more, and one of the largest waves that rolled 
towards the sand-hills threw a body upon the shore. It was 
a woman, and appeared quite dead, said the sailors; but 
some women thought they discerned signs of life in her, and 
the stranger \^■as carried across the sand-hills into the fisher- 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 31 § 

mail’s liut. How beautiful arid fair she was ! certainly she 
must be a great lady. 

They laid her upon the humble bed that boasted not a 
yard of linen, but there was a woollen coverlet, and that 
would keep the occupant warm. 

Life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew 
nothing of what had happened, or where she was; and it 
was better so, for every thing she loved and valued lay 
buried in the sea. It was with her ship as with the vessel 
in the song of The King’s Son of England.” 

“ Alas, it was a grief to see 
How the gallant ship sank speedily.” 

Portions of wreck and fragments of wood drifted ashore, 
and they were all that remained of what had been the ship 
The wind still drove howling over the coast. For a few 
moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke 
in pain, and cries of anguish and fear came from her lips. 
She opened her wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few 
words, but none understood her. 

And behold, as a reward for the pain and sorrow she had 
undergone, she held in her arms a new-born child, the child 
that was to have rested upon a gorgeous couch, surrounded 
by silken curtains, in the sumptuous home. It was to have 
been welcomed with joy to a life rich in all the goods of the 
earth; and now Providence had caused it to be born in this 
humble retreat, and not even a kiss did it receive from its 
mother. 

The fisher’s wife laid the child upon the mother’s bosom, 
and it rested on a heart that beat no more, for she was dead. 
The child who was to be nursed by wealth and fortune, was 
cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand- 
hills, to partake the fate and heavy days of the poor. And 


320 


Andersen’s tales. 


hero again comes into our mind the old song of the English 
king’s soji, in which mention is made of the customs prev- 
alent at that time, when knights and squires plundered 
those who had been saved from shipwreck. 

The ship had been stranded some distance south of Nis- 
sum Bay. The hard, inhuman days in which, as we have 
stated, the inhabitants of the Jutland shores did evil to the 
shipwrecked, were long past. Affection and sympathy and 
self-sacrifice for the unfortunate were to be found, as they 
are to be found in our own time, in many a brilliant 
example. The dying mother and the unfortunate child 
would have found succor and help wherever the wind blew 
them; but nowhere could they have found more earnest care 
than in the hut of the poor fisher-wife, who had stood but 
yesterday, with a heavy heart, beside the grave which 
covered her child, which would have been five years old 
that day, if God had spared it to her. 

No one knew who the dead stranger was, or could even 
form a conjecture. The pieces of wreck said nothing on 
the subject. 

Into the rich house in Spain no tidings penetrated of the 
fate of the daughter and the son-in-law. They had not ar- 
rived at their destined post, and violent storms had raged 
during the past weeks. At last the verdict was given, 

Foundered at sea — all lost.” 

But in the sand-hills near Hunsby, in the fisherman’s hut, 
lived a little scion of the rich Spanish family. 

Where Heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to 
make a meal, and in the depths of the sea is many a dish ol 
fish for the hungry. 

And they called the boy Jurgen. 

It must certainly be a Jewish child,” the people said. 
** it looks so swarthy.” 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


321 


“ It might be an Italian or a Spaniard,” observed the 
clergyman. 

But to the fisherwoman these three nations seemed all the 
same, and she consoled herself with the idea that the child 
was baptized as a Chiistian. 

The boy throve. The noble blood in his veins was warm, 
and he became strong on his homely fare. He grew apaco 
in the hum' le house, and the Danish dialect spoken by the 
West Jutes became his language. The pomegranate seed 
from Spanish soil became a hardy plant on the coast of 
West Jutland. Such may be a man’s fate I To this home 
he clung with the roots of his whole being. He was to have 
experience of cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and 
hardships that surrounded the humble ; but he tasted also 
of the poor man’s joys. 

Childhood has sunny heights for all, whose memory 
gleams through the whole after-life. The boy had many 
opportunities for pleasure and play. The whole coast, for 
miles and miles, was full of playthings ; for it was a mosaic 
of pebbles, red as cofal, yellov^ as amber, and others again 
white and rounded like birds’ eggs ; and all smoothed and 
prepared by the sea. Even the bleached fish-skeletons, the 
water-plants dried by the wind, seaweed, white, glearuing, 
and long linen-like bands, waving among the stones, all 
these seemed made to give pleasure and amusement to the 
eye and the thoughts ; and the boy had an intelligent mind 
— many and great faculties lay dormant in him. How 
readily he retained in his mind the stories and songs he 
heard, and how neat-handed he was I With stones and mus- 
sel-shells he put together pictures and ships with which one 
could decorate the room ; and he could cut out his thoughts 
wonderfully on a stick, his foster-mother said, though the 
boy was still so young and little I His voice sounded 
V 14* 


322 


Andersen's tales. 


sweetly ; every melody flowed at once from his lips. Many 
chords were attuned in his heart which might have sounded 
out into the world, if he had been placed elsewhere than in 
the fisherman’s hut by the North Sea. 

One day another ship was stranded there. Among other 
things, a chest of rare flower-bulbs floated ashore. Some were 
put into the cooking-pots, for they were thought to be eat- 
able, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand, but they did 
not accomplish their purpose, or unfold the richness of color 
whose germ was within them. Would it be better with 
Jtirgen ? The flower-bulbs had soon played their part, but 
he had still years of apprenticeship before him. 

Neither he nor his friends remarked in what a solitary 
and uniform way one day succeeded another ; for there was 
plenty to do and to see. The sea itself was a great lesson- 
book, unfolding a new leaf every day, such as calm and 
storm, breakers and waifs. The visits to the church were 
festal visits. But among the festal visits in the fisherman’s 
house, one was particularly distinguished. It was repeated 
twice in the year, and was, in fact, the visit of the brother 
of Jurgen’s foster-mother, the eel-breeder from Zjaltring, 
upon the neighborhood of the “ Bow Hill.” He used to 
come in a cart painted red, and filled with eels. The cart 
was covered and locked like a box, and painted all over 
with blue and white tulips. It was drawn by two dun 
oxen, and Jurgen was allowed to guide them. 

The eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and 
brought a measure of brandy with him. Every one received 
a small glassful, or a cupful when there was a scarcity of 
glasses : even Jurgen had as much as a large thimbleful, 
that he might digest the fat eel, the eel-breeder said, who 
8,lways told the same story over again; and when his hear- 
ers laughed, he immediately told it over again to the same 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


328 


audience. As, during his cliildliood, and even later, Jiirgeu 
used many expressions from this story of the eel-breeder’s, 
and made use of it in various ways, it is as well that we 
should listen to it too. Here it is : 

“ The eels went into the bay ; and the mother-eel said to 
her daughters, who begged leave to go a little way up the 
bay, ‘ Don’t go too far : the ugly eel-spearer might come 
and snap you all up.’ But they went too far ; and of eight 
daughters only three came back to the eel-mother, and these 
wept and said, ‘We only went a little way before the door, 
and the ugly eel-spearer came directly, and stabbed five of 
our party to death.’ ‘ They’ll come again,’ said the mother- 
eel. ‘Oh no,’ exclaimed the daughters, ‘for he skinned 
them, and cut them in two, and fried them.’ ‘ Oh, they’ll 
come again,’, the mother-eel persisted. ‘ No,’ replied the 
daughters, ‘ for he ate them up.’ ‘ They’ll come again,’ re- 
peated the mother-eel. ‘ But he drank brandy after them,’ 
continued the daughters. ‘ Ah, then they’ll never come 
back,’ said the mother, and she burst out crying, ‘ It’s the 
brandy that buries the eels.’ 

“ And therefore,” said the eel-breeder, in conclusion, “ it 
is always right to take brandy after eating eels.” 

And this story was the tinsel-thread, the most humorous 
recollection of Jtirgen’s life. He likewise wanted to go a 
little way outside the door, and up the bay — that is to say, 
out into the world in a ship; and his mother said, like the 
eel-breeder, “ There are so many bad people — eel-spearers I” 
But he wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, a little 
way into the dunes, and he succeeded in doing so. Four 
merry days, the happiest of his childhood, unrolled them 
selves, and the whole beauty and splendor of Jutland, ali 
the joy and sunshine of his home, were concentrated it 
these. He was to go to a festival— though it was certainl)> 
a burial feast. 


324 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


A wealthy relative of the fisherman’s family had died 
The farm lay deep in the country, eastward, and a point 
towards the north, as the saying is. Jurgen’s foster-pa- 
rents were to go, and he was to accompany them from the 
dunes, across heath and moor. They came to the green 
meadows where the river Skjarn rolls its course, the river 
of many eels, where mother-eels dwell with their daughters, 
who are caught and eaten up by wicked people. But men 
were said sometimes to have acted no better towards their 
own fellow-men; for had not the knight, Sir Bugge, been 
murdered by wicked people ? and though he was well 
spoken of, had he not wanted to kill the architect, as the 
legend tells us, who nad built for him the castle, with the 
thick walls and tower, where Jurgen and his parents now 
stood, and where the river falls into the bay ? . The wall on 
the ramparts still remained, and red crumbling fragments 
lay strewn around. Here it was that Sir Bugge, after the 
architect had left him, said to one of his men, “ Go thou 
after him, and say, ‘ blaster, the tower shakes.’ If he turns 
round, you are to kill him, and take from him the money I 
paid him; but if he does not turn round, let him depart in 
peace.” The man obeyed, and the architect never turned 
round, but called back, “ The tower does not shake in the 
least, but one day there will come a man from the west, in 
a blue cloak, who will cause it to shake I” And indeed so 
it chanced, a hundred years later; for the North Sea broke 
in, and the tower was cast down, but the man who then 
possessed the castle, Prebjorn Gyldenstjerne, built a new 
castle higher up, at the end of the meadow, and that stands 
to this day, and is called Norre Vosborg. 

Past this castle went Jtirgen and his foster-parents. 
They had told him its story during the long winter eve- 
nings, and now he saw the lordly castle, with its double 


A STOKY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


325 


moat, and treo», and bushes; the wall, covered with ferns, 
rose within the moat; but most beautiful of all were the 
lofty lirne-trees, which grew up to the highest windows, and 
filled the air with sweet fragrance. In a corner of the gar- 
den, towards the northwest, stood a great bush, full of blos- 
soms, like winter snow amid the summer’s green: it was a 
juniper-bush, the first that Jurgen had seen thus in bloom. 
He never forgot it, nor the lime-tree: the child’s soul treas- 
ured up these remembrances of beauty and fragrance to 
gladden the old man. 

From Norre Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the 
way went more easily; for they encountered other guests 
who were also bound for the burial, and were riding in 
wagons. Our travellers had to sit all together on a little 
box at the back of the wagon, but even this was preferable 
to walking, they thought. So they pursued their journey 
in the wagon across the rugged heath. The oxen which 
drew the vehicle slipped every now and then, where a 
patch of fresh grass "appeared amid the heather. The sun 
shone warm, and it was wonderful to behold how in the far 
distance something like smoke seemed to be rising; and 
yet this smoke was clearer than the mist; it was transpa- 
rent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar 
over the heath. 

“ That is Lokeman driving his sheep,” said some one ; 
and this was enough to excite the fancy of Jilrgen. It 
seemed to him as if they were now going to enter fairy- 
land, though every thing was still real. 

How quiet it was 1 Far and wide the heath extended 
around them like a beautiful carpet. The heather bloomed ; 
the juniper-bushes and the fresh oak-saplings stood up like 
nosegays from the earth. An inviting place for a frolic, il 
it were not for the nuuber of poisonous adders of which 


326 


ANDERSENS TALES. 


the travellers spoke, as they did also of the wolves which 
formerly infested the place, from which circumstance the 
region was still called the Wolfsborg region. The old man 
who guided the oxen related how, in the lifetime of hia 
father, the horses had to sustain many a hard fight with the 
wild beasts that were now extinct ; and how he himself, 
when he went out one morning to bring in the horses, had 
I'ound one of them standing with its fore-feet on a wolf it 
had killed, after the savage beast had torn and lacerated 
the legs of the brave horse. 

The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only 
too quickly accomplished. They stopped before the house 
of mourning, where they found plenty of guests within and 
without. Wagon after wagon stood ranged in a row, and 
horses and oxen went out to crop the scanty pasture. Great 
sand-hills, like those at home in the North Sea, rose behind 
the house, and extended far and wide. How had they come 
here, miles into the interior of the land, and as large and 
high g^s those on the coast ? The wind had lifted and car- 
ried them hither, and to them also a history was at- 
tached. 

Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed' 
tears ; beyond this, the guests were cheerful enough, as it 
appeared to Jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. 
Eels there were of the fattest, upon which brandy should 
be poured to bury them, as the eel-breeder said ; and cer>. 
tainly his maxim was here carried out. 

Jtirgen went to and fro in the house. On the third day 
he felt quite at home, like as in the fisherman’s hut on the 
sand-hills where he had passed his early days. Here on 
the heath there was certainly an unheard-of wealth, for the 
flowers and blackberries and bilberries were to be found in 
plenty, so large and sweet, that when they were crushed 


A STOKY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 3^27 

beneath the tread of the passers-by, the heath was colored 
with their red juice. 

Here was a Hun’s grave, and yonder another. Coluinna 
of smoke rose into the still air ; it was a heath-fire, he was 
told, that shone so splendidly in the dark evening. 

Now came the fourth day, and the funeral festivities were 
to conclude, and tlu^y were to go back from the land-dunes 
to the sand-dunes. 

“ Ours are the best,” said the old fisherman, Jtirgen’s 
foster-father ; “ these have no strength.” 

And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had 
come into the country, and it seemed all very intelligible. 
This was the explanation they gave : 

A corpse had been found on the coast, and the peasants 
had buried it in the churchyard ; and from that time the 
sand began to fly, and the sea broke in violently. A wise 
man in the parish advised them to open the grave and to 
look if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb ; 
for if so, he was a man of the sea, and the sea would not 
rest until it had got him back. So the grave was opened, 
and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. So 
they laid him upon a cart and harnessed two oxen before it ; 
and, as if stung by an adder, the oxen ran away with the 
man of the sea over heath and moorland to the ocean ; and 
then the sand ceased flying inland, but the hills that had 
been heaped up still remained there. All this Jtirgen heard 
and treasured in his memory from the happiest days of his 
childhood, the days of the burial-feast. How glorious it was 
to get out into strange regions, and to see strange people ! 
And he was to go further still. He was not yet fourteen 
years old when he went out in a ship to see what the world 
could show him : bad weather, heavy seas, malice, and hard 
men — these were his experiences, for he became a ship-boy 


3-28 


Andersen’s tales. 


There were cold nights, and bad living, and blows to be 
endured ; then he felt as if his noble Spanish blood boiled 
within him, and bitter wicked words seethed up to his lips; 
but it was better to gulp them down, though he felt as the 
eel must feel when it is flayed and cut up, and put into the 
t*rying-pan. 

“ I shall come again !” said a voice within him. He saw 
the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents. He even 
saw the town where they had lived in happiness and pros- 
perity ; but he knew nothing of his home or race, and his 
race knew just as little about him. 

The poor ship-boy was not allowed to land ; but on the 
last day of their stay he managed to get ashore. There 
were several purchases to be made, and he was to carry 
them on board. 

There stood Jilrgen in his shabby clothes, which looked 
as if they had been washed in the ditch and dried in the 
chimney: for the first time he, the inhabitant of the dunes, 
saw a great city. How lofty the houses seemed, and how 
full of people were the streets ! some pushing this way, 
some that — a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, 
monks and soldiers — a calling and shouting, and jingling 
of bell-harnessed asses and mules, and the church-bells 
chiming between song and sound, hammering and knock- 
ing, all going on at once. Every handicraft had its home 
in the basements of the houses or in the lanes; and the 
sun shone so hotly, and the air was so close, that one 
seemed to be in an oven full of beetles, cockchafers, bees, 
and flies, all humming and murmuring together. Jiirgen 
hardly knew where he was or which way he went. Then 
he saw just in front of him the mighty portal of the cathe 
dral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and a 
fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. Even the 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


S29 


poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the temple. The 
sailor with whom Jurgen went, took his way through the 
cliurch; and Jurgen stood in the sanctuary. Colored pic- 
tures gleajned from, their golden ground. On the altai 
stood the figure of tlie Virgin with the child Jesus, sur- 
rounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive garb were 
chanting, and choir-bcys, beautifully attired, swung the 
silver censer. What splendor, what magnificence did he 
see here I It streamed through his soul and overpowered 
him; the church and the faith of his parents surrounded 
him, and touched a chord in his soul, so that the tears over- 
flowed his eyes. 

From the church they went to the market-place. Here a 
quantity of provisions were given him to carry. The way 
to the harbor was long, and, tired and overpowered by va- 
rious emotions, he rested for a few moments before a splen- 
did house; with marble pillars, statues, and broad staircases. 
Here he rested his .bundle against the wall. Then a liv- 
eried porter came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and 
drove him away — him, the grandson of the house. But no 
one there knew that, and he just as little as any one. And 
afterwards he went on board again, and there were hard 
words and cuffs, little sleep and much work; such were his 
experiences. They say that it is well to suffer in youth, if 
age brings something to make up for it. 

His time of servitude on shipboai'd had expired, and the 
vessel lay once more at Ringkjobing, in Jutland : he came 
ashore and went home to the sand-dunes by Hunsby; but 
his foster-mother had died while he was away on his 
voyage. 

A hard winter followed that summer. Snow-storms swep' 
over land and sea, and there was a difficulty in getting 
about. How variously things were distributed in the 


330 


Andersen’s tales. 


world ! here biting cold and snow-storms, while in the 
Spanish land there was burning sunshine and oppressive 
heat. And yet, when here at home there came a clear 
frosty day, and Jtirgen saw the swans flying in numbers 
from the sea towards the land, and across to Vosborg, it 
appeared to him that people could breathe most freely 
here; and here too was a splendid summer I In imagina* 
tion he saw the heath bloom and grow purple with rich, 
juicy berries, and saw the elder-trees and the lime-trees a1 
Vosborg in blossom. He determined to go there once 
more. 

Spring came on, and the fishery began. Jurgen was an 
active assistant in this; he had grown in the last year, and 
w^as quick at work. He was full of life, he understood 
how to swim, to tread water, to turn over and tumble in the 
flood. They often warned him to beware of the troops of 
dog-fish, which could seize the best swimmer, and draw 
him down and devour him; but such was not Jurgen’s 
fate. 

At the neighbor’s on the dune was a boy named Martin, 
with whom Jiirgen was very friendly, and the two took ser- 
vice in the same ship to Norway, and also went together to 
Holland; and they had never had any quarrel; but a quar- 
rel can easily come, for when a person is hot by nature, he 
often uses strong gestures, and that is what Jurgen did one 
day on board when they had a quarrel about nothing at all. 
They were sitting behind the cabin door, eating out of* a 
delf plate which they had placed between them. Jurgen 
held his pocket-knife in his hand, and lifted it against Mar- 
tin, and at the same time became ashy pale in the face, and 
his eyes had an ugly look. Martin only said — 

“ Ah I ha I you are one of that sort, who are fond of 
usi ig the knife I” 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


331 


Hardly were the words spoken, when Jurgen’s hand sank 
down. He answered not a syllable, but went on eating, 
and afterwards walked away to his woik. When they 
were resting again, he stepped up to Martin, and said — 

“ You may hit me in the face I I-have deserved it. But 
I feel as if I had a pot in me that boiled over.” 

“There let the thing rest,” replied Martin; and after that 
they were almost doubly as good friends as before; and 
when afterwards they got back to the dunes and began 
telling their adventures, this was told among the rest; and 
Martin said that Jurgen was certainly passionate, but a 
good fellow for all that. 

They were both young and strong, well-grown and stal- 
wart; but Jurgen was the cleverer of the two. 

In Norway the peasants go into the mountains, and lead 
out the cattle there to pasture. On the west coast of Jut- 
land, huts have been erected among the sand-hills; they are 
built of pieces of wreck, and roofed with turf and heather. 
There are sleeping-places around the walls, and here the 
fisher-people live and sleep during the early spring. Every 
fisherman has his female helper, his manager, as she is called, 
whose business consists in baiting the hooks, preparing 
the warm beer for the fishermen when they come ashore, 
and getting their dinners cooked when they come back into 
the hut tired and hungry. Moreover, the managers bring 
up the fish from the boat, cut them open, prepare them, and 
have generally a great deal to do. 

Jtirgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their 
managers inhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next 
one. 

One of the girls. Else by name, had known Jtirgen from 
childhood : they were glad to see each other, and in many 
things were of the same mind; but in outward appearance 


332 


ANDERSEN S TALES. 


they were entirely opposite; for he was brown, whereas she 
was pale and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea 
in sunshine. 

One day as they were walking together, and Jurgen held 
her hand in his very firmly and warmly, she said to him : 

“Jurgen, I have something weighing upon my heart 1 
Let me be your manager, for you are like a brother to me, 
whereas Martin, who has engaged me — he and I are lovers 
— but you need not tell that to the rest.” 

And it seemed to Jfirgen as if the loose sand were giving 
way under his feet. He spoke not a word, but only nodded 
nis head, which signified “yes.” More was not required; 
but suddenly lie felt in his heart that he detested Martin; 
and the longer he considered of this — for he had never 
thought of Else in this way before — the more did it become 
clear to him that Martin had stolen from him the only being 
he loved ; and now it was all at once plain to him, that Else 
was the being in question. 

When the sea is somewhat disturbed, and the fishermen 
come home in their great boat, it is a sight to behold how 
they cross the reefs. One of the men stands upright in the 
bow of the boat, and the others watch him, sitting with the 
oars in their hands. Outside the reef they appear to be 
rowing, not towards the land, but backing out to sea, till 
the man standing in the boat gives them the sign that the 
great wave is coming which is to float them across the reef ; 
and accordingly the boat is lifted — lifted high in the air, so 
that its keel is seen from the shore ; and in the next 
minute the whole boat is hidden from the eye; neither mast 
nor keel nor people can be seen, as though the sea had 
devoured them; but in a few moments they emerge like a 
great-sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move 
as if the creature had legs. The second and the third reet 


A STORY FROM THE SANH-DUNES. 


333 


are passed in 'the same manner ; and now the fishermen 
jump into the water; every wave helps them, and pushes 
the boat well forward, till at length they have drawn it be 
yond the range of the breakers. 

A wrong order given in front of the reef — the slightest 
hesitation — and the boat must founder. 

“ Then it would be all over with me, and Martin too !” 
This thought struck Jurgen while they were out at sea, 
where his foster-father had been taken alarmingly ill. The 
fever had seized him. They were only a few oars’ strokes 
from the reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat, and stood 
up in the bow. 

“ Father — let me come 1” he said ; and his eye glanced 
towards Martin, and across the waves : but while every oar 
bent with the exertions of the rowers, as the great wave 
came towering towards them, he beheld the pale face of his 
father, and dare not obey the evil impulse that had seized 
him. The boat came safely across the reef to land, but the 
evil thought remained in his blood, and roused up every lit- 
tle fibre of bitterness which had remained in his memory 
since he and Martin had been comrades. But he could not 
weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavor to do so. He 
felt that Martin had despoiled him, and this was enough to 
make him detest his former friend. Several of the fisher- 
men noticed this, but not Martin, who continued obliging 
and talkative — the latter a little too much. 

Jtirgen’s adopted father had to keep his bed, which be- 
came his death-bed, for in the next week he died; and now 
Jtlrgen was installed as heir in the little house behind the 
sand-hills. It was but a little house, certainly, but still it 
was something, and Martin had nothing of the kind. 

“You will not take sea-service again, JUrgen?” observed 
one of the old fishermen. “ You will always stay with us, now.” 


334 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


But this was not Jiirgen’s intention, for he was jusi 
thinking of looking about him a little in the world. The 
eel-breeder of Zjaltring had an uncle in Alt-Skage, who '.vas 
a fisherman, but at the same time a prosperous merchant, 
vvlio had ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old 
man, and it would not be amiss to enter his service. Alt- 
Skage lies in the extreme north of Jutland, as far removed 
form the Hunsby dunes as one can travel in that country; 
and this is just what pleased Jtlrgen, for he did not want to 
remain till the wedding of Martin and Else, which was to 
be celebrated in a few weeks. 

The old fisherman asserted that it was foolish now to 
quit the neighborhood ; for that Jurgen had a home, and 
Else would probably be inclined to take him rather than 
Martin. 

Jurgen answered so much at random, that it was not 
easy to understand what he meant ; but the old man 
brought Else to him, and she said, “ You have a home now; 
that ought to be well considered.” 

And Jtirgen thought of many things. 

The sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves 
in the human heart. Many thoughts, strong and weak, 
thronged through Jiirgen’s brain ; and he said to Else, 

“ If Martin had a house like mine, whom would you rather 
have ?” 

“ But Martin has no house, and cannot get one.” 

But let us suppose he had one.” 

“ Why, then, I would certainly take Martin, for Hiatus 
what my heart tells me ; but one canT live upon that.” 

And Jurgen thought of these things all night through. 
Something was working within him, he could not under- 
stand what it was, but he had a thought that was stronger 
than his love for Else ; and so he went to Martin, and what 


A STORY FRO^r TUE SAND-DUNES. 


335 


he said and did there was well considered. He let the 
house to Martin on the most liberal terms, saying that he 
wished to go to sea again, because it pleased him to do so. 
And Else kissed him on the mouth when she heard that, fo^ 
she loved Martin best. 

In the early morning Jurgen purposed to start. On the 
evening before his departure, when it was already growing 
late, he felt a wish to visit Martin once more ; he started, 
and among the dunes the old fisher met him, who was angry 
at his going. The old man made jokes about Martin, and 
declared there must be some magic about that fellow, “ of 
whom all the girls were so fond.” Jurgen paid no heed to 
this speech, but said farewell to the old man, and went on 
towards the house where Martin dwelt. He heard loud 
talking within. Martin was not alone, and this made Jilr- 
gen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to en- 
counter Else ; and on second consideration, he thought it 
better not to hear Martin thank him again, and therefore 
turned back. 

On the following morning, before break of day, he fast- 
ened his knapsack, took his wooden provision-box in his 
hand, and went away among the sand-hills towards the 
coast path. The way was easier to traverse than the 
heavy sand-road, and moreover shorter ; for he intended to 
go in the first instance to Zjaltring, by Bowberg, where the 
eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit. 

The sea lay pure and blue before him, and mussel-shells 
and sea-pebbles, the playthings of his youth, crunched 
under his feet. While he was thus marching on, his nose 
suddenly began to bleed ; it was a trifling incident, but 
little things can have great significaaces. A few large 
drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves. He wiped them 
off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if this 


38(5 


ANDERSENS TALES. 


had cleared and lightened his brain. In the sand the sea- 
eringa was blooming here and tliere. He broke of! a stalk 
and stuck it in his hat ; he determined to be merry and ol 
good cheer, for he was going into the wide world — “ a little 
way outside the door, in front of the bay,” as the young* eels 
had said. “ Beware of bad people, who will catch you and 
day you, cut you in two, and put you in the frying-pan !” 
he repeated in his mind, and smiled, for he thought he 
should find his way. through the world — good courage is a 
strong weapon. 

The sun already stood high when he approached the nar- 
row entrance to Nissum Bay. He looked back, and saw a 
couple of horsemen galloping a long distance behind him, 
and they were accompanied by other people. But this con- 
cerned him nothing. 

The ferry was on the opposite side of the bay. Jilrgen 
called to the ferryman; and when the latter came over with 
the boat, Jurgen stepped in; but before they had gone half- 
way across, the men whom he had seen riding so hastily be- 
hind him, hailed the ferryman, and summoned him to return 
in the name of the law. Jurgen did not understand the 
reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn back, 
and therefore himself took an oar and returned. The mo- 
ment the boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, 
and, before he was aware, they had bound his hands with a 
rope. 

“Thy wicked deed will cost thee thy life,” they said. “ It 
ifi well that we caught thee.” 

He was accused of nothing less than murder. Martin 
had been found dead, with a knife thrust through his neck. 
One of the fishermen had (late on the previous evening) 
met Jurgen going towards Martinis house ; and this was 
not the first time Jurgen had raised his knife against Martin 


A STORY FROM THE SAHD-DUNES. 


337 


— 80 they knew that he was the murderer. The town in 
which the prison was built was a long way off, and the 
wind was contrary for going there; but not half an hour 
would be required to get across the bay, and a quarter of 
an hour would bring them from thence to Norre Yosborg, 
a great castle with walls and ditches. One of Jiirgen’s 
captors was a fisherman, a brother of the keeper of the 
castle; and he declared it might be managed that Jiirgeii 
should for the present be put into the dungeon at Yosborg, 
where Long Martha the gipsy had been shut up till her 
execution. 

No attention was paid to the defence made by Jilrgen; 
the few drops of blood upon his shirt-sleeves bore heavy 
witness against him. But Jurgen was conscious of inno- 
cence; and as there was no chance of immediately righting 
himself, he submitted to his fate. 

The party landed just at the spot where Sir Bugge’s 
castle had stood and where Jurgen had walked with his 
foster-parents after the burial-feast, during the four happiest 
days of his childhood. He was led by the old path over the 
meadow to Yosborg; and again the elder blossomed and the 
lofty lindens smelt sweet, and it seemed but yesterday that 
he had left the spot. 

In the two wings of the castle a staircase leads down to 
a spot below the entrance, and from thence there is access 
to a low vaulted cellar. Here Long Martha had been im- 
prisoned, and hence she had been led away to the scaffold. 
She had eaten the hearts of five children, and had been 
under the delusion that if she could obtain two more, she 
would be able to fly and to make herself invisible. In the 
midst of the cellar roof was a little narrow air-hole, but no 
window. The blooming lindens could not waft a breath of 
comforting fragrance into that abode, when; all was dark 
W 15 


838 


andeksen’s tales. 


and mouldy. Only a rough bench stood in the prison; buT 
“ a good conscience is a soft pillow,” and consequently J (li** 
gen could sleep well. 

The thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the 
outside by an iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can 
creep through a key-hole into the baron’s castle just as into 
the fisherman’s hut; and wherefore should he not creep in 
here, where Jtirgen sat thinking of Long Martha and her 
evil deeds ? Her last thought on the night before her exe- 
cution had filled this space; and all the magic came into 
Jurgen’s mind which tradition asserted to have been 
practised there in the old times, when Sir Schwanwedel 
dwelt there. All this passed through Jurgen’s mind, and 
made him shudder; but a sunbeam — a refreshing thought 
from without — penetrated his heart even here; it was the 
remembrance of the blooming elder and the fragrant lime- 
trees. 

He was not left there long. They carried him off to the 
town of Ringkjobing, where his imprisonment was just as 
hard. 

Those times were not like ours. Hard measure was 
dealt out to the “ common” people; and it was just after the 
days when farms were converted into knights’ estates, on 
which occasions coachmen and servants were often made 
magistrates, and had it in their power to sentence a poor 
man, for a small offence, to lose his property and to corpo- 
-al punishment. Judges of this kind were still to be found ; 
and in Jutland, far from the capital and from the enlightened 
well-meaning head of the government, the law was still 
sometimes very loosely administered ; and the smallest 
grievance that Jurgen had to expect was that his case 
would be protracted. 

Cold and cheerless wms his abode — and wlien would this 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


339 


state of things end ? He had innocently sunk into niisfor* 
tune and sorrow — that was his fate. He had leisure now 
to ponder on the difference of fortune on earth, and to won- 
der why this fate had been allotted to him; and he felt sure 
that the question would be answered in the next life — the 
existence that awaits us when this is over. This faith had 
grown strong in him in the poor fisherman’s hut; that which 
had never shone into his father’s mind, in all the richness 
and sunshine of Spain, was vouchsafed as a light of com- 
fort in his poverty and distress — a sign of mercy from God 
that never deceives. 

The spring storms began to blow. The rolling and moan- 
ing of the North Sea could be heard for miles inland when 
the wind was lulled ; for then it sounded like the rushing 
of a thousand wagons over a hard road with a mine beneath. 
Jurgen, in his prison, heard these sounds, and it was a 
relief to him. No melody could have appealed so directly 
to his heart as did these sounds of the sea — the rolling sea, 
the boundless sea, on which a man can be borne across the 
world before the wind, carrying his own house with him 
wherever he is driven, just as the snail carries its home 
even into a strange land. 

How he listened to the deep moaning, and how the 
thought arose in him — “ Free I free I How happy to be 
free, even without shoes and in ragged clothes I” Some- 
times, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fiery nature 
rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists. 

Weeks, months, and a whole year had gone by, when a 
vagabond — Niels, the thief, called also the horse couper — 
was arrested ; and now the better times came, ana it was 
seen what wrong Jiirgen had endured. 

In the neighborhood of Ringkjobing, at a baer-hoiise, 
Niels, the thief, bad met Martin on the afternoon before 


340 


Andersen’s tales. 


Jiirgen’s departure from home and before the murder. A 
few glasses were drunk — not enough to cloud any one’s 
brain, but yet enough to loosen Martin’s tongue ; and he 
began to boast, to say that he had obtained a house, and 
intended to marry ; and when Niels asked where he in- 
tended to get the money, Martin shook his pocket proudly, 
and said : 

“ The money is there, where it ought to be.” 

This boast cost him his life ; for when he went homey 
Niels went after him, and thrust a knife through his throat, 
to rob the murdered man of the expected gold, which did not 
exist. 

This was circumstantially explained ; but for us it is enough 
to know that Jurgen was set at liberty. But what amends 
did he get for having been imprisoned a whole year, and 
shut out from all communion with men ? They told him 
he was fortunate in being proved innocent, and that he 
might go. The burgomaster gave him two dollars for 
travelling expenses, and many citizens offered him provi- 
sions and beer — there were still good men, not all “ grind 
and flay.” But the best of all was, that the merchant 
Bronne Skjagen, the same into whose service Jurgen intended 
to go a year since, was just at that time on business in the 
town of Bingkjobing. Bronne heard the whole story ; and 
the man had a good heart, and understood what Jiirgeii 
must have felt and suffered. He therefore made up his mind 
to make it up to the poor lad, and convince him that there 
were still kind folks in the world. 

So Jurgen went forth from the prison as if to Paradise, 
tio find freedom, affection, and trust. He was to travel this 
road now ; for no goblet of life is all bitterness : no good 
man would pour out such measure to his fellow-man, and 
how should He do it, who is love itself? 


A STORY FROM THE SAN’D-DUNES. 


341 


Let all that be buried and forgotten,” said Bronne the 
merchant. “ Let us draw a thick line through last year •, 
and we will even burn the calendar. And in two days we’ll 
start for dear, friendly, peaceful Skjagen. They call 
Skjagen an out-of-the-way corner ; but it’s a good warm 
chimney-corner, and its windows open towards every part 
of the world.” 

That was a journey I — it was like taking fresh breath — • 
out of the cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine I The 
heath stood blooming in its greatest pride, and the herd- 
boy sat on the Hun’s grave and blew his pipe, which he had 
carved for himself out of the sheep’s bone. Fata Morgana, 
the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the desert, showed itself 
with hanging gardens and swaying forests, and the wonder- 
ful cloud phenomenon, called here the “ Lokeman driving 
his flock,” was seen likewise.' 

Up through the land of the Wendels, up towards Skjagen, 
they went, from whence the men with the long beards (the 
Longobardi, or Lombards) had emigrated in the days when, 
in the reign of King Snio, all the children and the old people 
were to have been killed, till the noble Dame Gambaruk 
proposed that the young people had better emigrate. All 
this was known to Jurgen — thus much knowledge he had ; 
and even if he did not know the land of the Lombards be- 
yond the high Alps, he had an idea how it must be there, 
for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in Spain. He 
thought of the southern fruits piled up there ; of the re^ 
pomegranate blossoms ; of the humming, murmuring, and 
toiling in the great beehive of a city he had seen : but, 
after all, home is best ; and Jurgen’s home was Denmark. 

At length they reached “ Wendelskajn,” as Skjagen is 
called in the old Norwegian and Icelandic writings. Then 
already Old Skjagen, with the western and eastern town, ex 


342 


Andersen’s tales. 


tended for miles, with sand-liills and arable land, as far as thfl 
lighthouse near the “ Skjagenzweig.” Then, as now, the 
houses were strewn among wind-raised sand-hills — a desert 
where the wind sports with the sand, and where the voices 
of the seamen and the wild swans strike harshly on the ear. 
In the southwest, a mile from the sea, lies Old Skjagen ; 
and here dwelt merchant Bronne, and here Jtirgen was 
henceforth to dwell. The great house was painted with 
tar ; the smaller buildings had each an overturned boat for 
a roof ; the pig-sty had been put together of pieces of 
wreck There was no fence here, for indeed there was 
nothing to fence in ; but long rows of fishes were hung 
upon lines, one above the other, to dry in the wind. The 
whole coast was strewn with spoilt herrings ; for there 
were so many of those fish, that a net was scarcely thrown 
into the sea before they were caught by cartloads ; there 
were so many, that often they were thrown back into the 
sea, or left to lie on the shore. 

The old man’s wife and daughter, and his servants too, 
came rejoicingly to meet him. There was a great pressing 
of hands, and talking, and questioning. And the daughter, 
what a lovely face and bright eyes she had I 

The interior of the house was roomy and comfortable. 
Fritters that a king would have looked upon as a dainty 
dish, were placed on the table; and there was wine from 
the vineyard of Skjagen — that is, the sea; for there the 
grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared in barrels 
and in bottles. 

When the mother and daughter heard who Jtirgen was, 
and how innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a 
still more friendly way; and the eyes of the charming 
Clara were the friendliest of all. Jtirgen found a happy 
home in Old Skjagen. It did his heart good ; and his heart 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


343 


had been sorely tried, and had drunk the bitter goblet of 
love, which softens or hardens according to circumstances. 
Jurgen's heart was still soft — it was young, and there was 
still room in it; and therefore it was well that Mistress 
Clara was going in three weeks in her father's ship to 
Christiansand, in Norway, to visit an aunt, and to stay 
there the whole winter. 

On the Sunday before her departure they all went to 
church, to the holy communion. The church was large and 
handsome, and had been built centuries before by Scotch- 
men and Hollanders; it lay at a little distance from the 
town. It was certainly somewhat ruinous, and the road to 
it was heavy, through, the deep sand; but the people gladly 
went through the difficulties to get to the house of God, 
to sing psalms and hear the sermon. The sand had heaped 
itself up round the walls of the church ; but the graves 
were kept free from it. 

It was the largest church north of the Limfjord. The 
Virgin Mary, with the golden crown on her head and the 
child Jesus in her arms, stood lifelike upon the altar; the 
holy apostles had been carved in the choir; and on the wall 
hung portraits of the old burgomasters and councillors of 
Skjagen; the pulpit was of carved work. The sun shone 
brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on the pol- 
ished brass chandelier, and on the little ship that hung from 
the vaulted roof. 

Jurgen felt as if overcome by a holy, child-like feeling, 
like that which possessed him when, as a boy, he had stood 
in the splendid Spanish cathedral; but here the feeling was 
different, for he felt conscious of being one of the congre- 
gation. 

After the sermon followed the holy communion. He par- 
took of the bread and wine, and it happened that he knelt 


344 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


beside Mistress Clara ; but liis thoughts were so fixed upon 
heaven and the holy service, that he did not notice his 
neighbor until he rose from his knees, and then he saw tears 
rolling down her cheeks. 

• Two days later she left Skjagen and went to Norway. 
He stayed behind, and made himself useful in the house and 
in the business. He went out fishing, and at that time fish 
were more plentiful and larger than now. Every Sunday 
when he sat in the church, and his eye rested on the statue 
of the Virgin on the altar, his glance rested for a time on 
the spot where Mistress Clara had knelt beside him, and he 
thought of her, how hearty and kind she had been to 
him. 

And so the autumn and the winter time passed away. 
There was wealth here, and a real family life ; even down to 
the domestic animals, who were all well kept. The kitchen 
glittered with copper and tin and white plates, and from the 
roof hung hams and beef, and winter stores in plenty. All 
this is still to be seen in many rich farms of the west coast 
of Jutland : plenty to eat and drink, clean decorated rooms, 
clever heads, happy tempers, and hospitality prevail there 
as in an Arab tent. 

Never since the famous burial-feast had Jurgen spent 
Buch a happy time ; and yet Mistress Clara was absent, 
except in the thoughts and memory of all. 

In April a ship was to ^tart for Norway, and Jurgen waa 
to sail in it. He was full of life and spirits, and looked so 
iovial that Dame Bronne declared it did her good to see 
him. 

“ And it’s a pleasure to see you too, old wife,” said the 
old merchant. “Jurgen has brought life into our winter 
evenings, and into you too, mother. You look younger this 
year, and you seem well and bonny. But then you were 


A STORY FROM THE SAND DUNES. 


34 ? 


once the prettiest girl in Wiborg, and that’s saying a great 
deal, for I have always found the Wiborg girls the prettiest 
of any.” 

Jilrgen said nothing to this, but he thought of a certaiu 
maiden of Skjagen ; and he sailed to visit that maiden, for 
the ship steered to Christiansand, in Norway, and a favo^' 
ing wind bore it rapidly to that town. 

One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse 
that stands far away from Old Skjagen : the coal-fire had 
long gone out, and the sun was already high when he 
mounted the tower. The sand-banks extend under the water a 
whole mile from the shore. Outside these banks many ships 
were seen that day ; and with the help of his telescope the old 
man thought he descried his own vessel, the “Karen Bronne.” 

Yes, surely, there she was ; and the ship was sailing up 
with Jurgen and Clara on board. The church and the 
lighthouse appeared to’ them as a heron and a swan rising 
from the blue waters. Clara sat on deck, and saw the sand- 
hills gradually looming forth ; if tlie wind held she might 
reach her home in about an hour — so near were they to 
home and its joys — so near were they to death and its ter« 
rors. For a plank in the ship gave way, and the water 
rushed in. The crew flew to the pumps, and attempted to 
stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted ; but they 
were still a full mile from the shore. Fishing-boats were in 
sight, but they were still far distant. The wind blew shoro 
ward, and the tide was in their favor too ; but all was in- 
sulhcient, for the ship sank. Jurgen threw his right arm 
about Clara, and pressed her close to him. 

With what a look she gazed in his face I As he threw 
himself in God's name into the water with her, she ntx^red 
a cry ; but still she U It safe, certain that ho would no^ lei 
her sink. 


3-16 


andersp:n s tales. 


Aucl now, in the hour of terror and danger, Jiirgcn ex 
perienced vvluit the old song told : 

“ And written it stood, how the brave king’s son 
Embraced the bride his valor liad won.” 

flow rejoiced he felt that he was a good swimmer ! He 
worked his way onward v/ith his feet and with one liand, 
while with the other he tightly held the young girl. He 
rested upon the waves, Le trod the water, he practised all 
the arts he knew, so as to reserve strength enough to reach 
the shore. He heard how Clara uttered a sigh, and felt a 
convulsive shudder pass through her, and he pressed her to 
him closer than ever. Now and then a wave rolled over 
her ; and he was still a few cables’ length from the land, 
when help came in the shape of an approaching boat. But 
under the water — he could see it clearly — stood a white 
form gazing at him ; a wave lifted Kim up, and the form ap- 
proached him : he felt a shock, and it grew dark, and every 
thing vanished from his gaze. 

On the sand-reef lay the wreck of a ship : the sea washed 
over it ; the white figure-head leant against an anchor, the 
sharp iron extended just to the surface. Jurgen had come 
in contact with this, and the tide had driven him ae^ainst it 
with double force. He sank down fainting with his load ; 
but the next wave lifted him and the young girl aloft again. 

The fishermen grasped them, and lifted them into the boat. 
The blood streamed down over Jurgen’s face ; he seemed 
dead, but he still clutched the girl so tightly that they were 
obliged to loosen her by force from his grasp. And Clara 
lay pale and lifeless in the boat that now made for the 
shore. 

All means were tried to restore Clara to life; but she 
was dead I For some time he had been swimming onward 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


U1 


witn a corpse, and had exerted himself to exliaustion foi 
one who was dead. 

Jurgen w'as still breathing. The fishermen carried him 
into the nearest house upon the sand-hills. A kind of sur- 
geon who lived there, and was at the same time a smith 
and a general dealer, bound up Jurgen’s wounds in a tem- 
porary way, till a physician could be got next day from the 
nearest town. 

The brain of the sick man was affected. In delirium he 
uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quiet and 
exhausted on his couch, and his life seemed to hang by a 
thread, and the physician said it would be best if this string 
snapped. 

“ Let us pray that God may take him to Himself; he will 
never be a sane man again 1” 

But life would not depart from him — the thread would not 
snap; but the thread of memory broke : the thread of all 
his mental power had been cut through ; and, what was 
most terrible, a body remained — a living healthy body — 
that wandered about like a spectre. 

Jurgen remained in the house of the merchant Bronne. 

“ He contracted his illness in his endeavor to save our 
child,” said the old man, “ and now he is our son.” 

People called Jurgen imbecile; but that was not the right 
expression. He was like an instrument in which the 
strings are loose and will sound no more; only at times for 
a few minutes they regained their power, and then they 
sounded anew : old melodies were heard, snatches of song ; 
pictures unrolled themselves, and then disappeared again in 
the mist, and once more he sat staring before him, without 
a thought. We may believe that he did not suffer, but hie 
dark eyes lost their brightness, and looked only like black 
clouded glass. 


848 


ANDERSEX'S TALES. 


Poor imbecile Jiirgen I” said the people. 

He it was whose life was to have been so pleasant that iv 
would be “ presumption and pride’^ to expect or believe in 
a higher existence hereafter. All his great mental faculties 
had been lost; only hard days, pain, and disappointment 
had been his lot. He was like a rare plant torn from its 
native soil, and thrown upon the sand, to wither there. And 
was the image, fashioned in God\s likeness, to have no bet- 
ter destination ? Was it to be merely the sport of chance ? 
No. The all-loving God would certainly repay him in the 
life to come, for what he had suffered and lost here. “ The 
Lord is good to all ; and His mercy is over all His works.” 
These words from the Psalms of David, the old pious wife 
of the merchant repeated in patience and hope, and the 
prayer of her heart was that Jurgen might soon be sum- 
moned to enter into the life eternal. 

In the churchyard where the sand blows across the walls, 
Clara lay buried. It seemed as if Jurgen knew nothing of 
this — it did not come within the compass of his thoughts, 
which comprised only fragments of a past time. Every 
Sunday he went with the old people to church, and sat si- 
lent there with vacant gaze. One day, while the Psalms 
were being sung, he uttered a deep sigh, and his eyes 
gleamed : they were fixed upon the altar, upon the place 
where he had knelt with his friend who was dead. He ut- 
tered her name, and became pale as death, and tears rolled 
over his cheeks. 

They led him out of the church; and he said to the by- 
standers that he was well, and had never been ill ; he, the 
heavily afflicted, the waif cast forth upon the world, re- 
membered nothing of his sufferings. And the Lord our 
Creator is wise and full of loving-kindness — who can doubt 
it? 


A STOKY FROM THE SAND DUNES. 


349 


In Spain, where the warm breezes blow over the Moorish 
cupola, among the orange-trees and laurels, where song and 
the sound of castagnettes are always heard, sat in the 
sumptuous house a childish old man, the richest merchant 
in the place, while children marched in procession through 
the streets, with waving flags and lighted tapers. How 
much of his wealth would the old man not have given to be 
able to press his children to his heart — his daughter, or her 
child, that had perhaps never seen the light in this world, 
far less a Paradise 1 

“ Poor child 1” 

Yes, poor child — a child still, and yet more than thirty 
years old; for to that age Jftrgen had attained in Old 
Skjagen. 

The drifting sand had covered the graves in the church- 
yard quite up to the walls of the church; but yet the dead 
must be buried among their relations and loved ones who 
had gone before them. Merchant Bronne and his wife now 
rested here with their children, under the white sand. 

It was spring-time, the season of storms. The sand-hills 
whirled up in clouds, and the sea ran high, and the flocks of 
birds flew like clouds in the storms, shrieking across the 
dunes; and shipwreck followed shipwreck on the reefs of 
“ Skjagenzweig,” from towards the Hunsby dunes. One 
evening Jurgen was sitting alone in the room. Suddenly 
his mind seemed to become clearer, and a feeling of unrest 
came upon him, which in his younger years had often driven 
him forth upon the heath and the sand-hills. 

“Home 1 home !” he exclaimed. No one heard him. He 
went out of the house towards the dunes. Sand and stones 
blew into his face and whirled around him. He went on 
further and further towards the church : the sand lay high 
around the walls, half over the windows ; but the lieap had 


350 


Andersen’s tales. 


been shovelled away from the door, and the entrance was 
free and easy to open : and Jurgen went into the church. 

The storm went howling over the town of Skjagen 
Within the memory of man the sea had not run so high — a 
terrible tempest I but Jflrgen was in the temple of God, and 
'While black night reigned without, a light arose in his soul, 
a light that was never to be extinguished ; he felt the 
heavy stone which seemed to weigh upon his head burst 
asunder. He thought he heard the sound of the organ, but 
it was the storm and the moaning of the sea. He sat down 
on one of the seats ; and behold, the candles were lighted 
up one by one; a richness was displayed such as he had 
only seen in the church in Spain; and all the pictures of the 
old councillors were endued with life, and stepped forth from 
the walls against which they had stood for centuries, and 
seated themselves in the entrance of the church. The gates 
and doors flew open, and in came all the dead people, fes- 
tively clad, and sat down to the sound of beautiCul music, 
and filled the seats in the church. Then the psalm-tune 
rolled forth like a sounding sea; and his old foster-parents 
from the Hunsby dunes were here, and the old merchant 
Bronne and his wife; and at their side, close to Jurgen, sat 
their friendly, lovely daughter Clara, who gave her hand to 
JUrgen, and they both went to the altar, where they had 
once knelt together, and the priest joined their hands and 
united them together for life. Then the sound of music was 
heard again, wonderful, like a child’s voice full of joy and 
expectation, ^nd it swelled on to an organ’s sound, to a 
tempest of full, noble sounds, lovely and elevating to hear, 
and yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs. 

And the little ship that hung down from the roof of the 
choir came down, and became wonderfully large and beauti- 
ful, with silken sails and golden yards, “and every rope 


A STORY FROM THE SAND-DUNES. 


351 


wrought through with silk,” as the old song said. The 
married pair went on board, and the whole congregation 
with them, for there was room and joyfulness for all. And 
the walls and arches of the church bloomed like the junipei 
and the fragrant lime-trees, and the leaves and branches 
waved and distributed coolness; then they bent and parted, 
and the ship sailed through the midst of them, through the 
sea, and through the air; and every church taper became a 
star, and the wind sang a psalm-tune, and all sang with the 
wind : 

“ In love, to glory — no life shall be lost. Full of blessed- 
ness and joy. Hallelujah !” 

And these words were the last that Jiirgen spoke in this 
world. The thread snapped that bound the immortal soul, 
and nothing but a dead body lay in the dark church, around 
which the storm raged, covering it with loose sand. 

The next morning was Sunday, and the congregation and 
their pastor went forth to the service. The road to church 
had been heavy ; the sand made the way almost impas- 
sable ; and now, when they at last reached their goal, a 
great hill of sand was piled up before the entrance, and the 
church itself was buried. The priest spoke a sliort prayer, 
and said that God had closed the door of this house, and 
the congregation must go and build a new one for Him else- 
where. 

So they sang a psalm under the open sky, and went back 
to their homes. 

Jurgen was nowhere to be found in the town of Skijagen, 
or in the dunes, however much they sought for him. It was 
thought that the waves, which had rolled far up on the 
sand, had swept him away. 

His body lay buried in a great sepulchre, in the church 


35 ^ 


ANDERSEN’ S TALES. 


itself. In the storm the Lord’s hand liad thrown a liaridful 
of eavtli on his grave; and the heavy mound of sand laj 
upon it, and lies there to this day. 

The whirling sand had covered the high vaulted pas* 
sages ; white-thorn and wild-rose trees grew over the 
church, over which the wanderer now walks ; while the 
tower, standing forth like a gigantic tombstone over a 
grave, is to be seen for miles around : no king has a more 
splendid tombstone. No one disturbs the rest of the dead ; 
no one knew of this, and we are the first who know of this 
grave — the storm sang the tale to me among the sand-hills. 


THE BISHOP OF BOEGLUM AND HIS WAE- 
EIOES. 

Our scene is in Northern Jutland, in the so-called “wild 
moor.” We hear what is called the “Wester-wow-wow” — 
the peculiar roar of the North Sea as it breaks against the 
western coast of Jutland. It rolls and thunders with a 
sound that penetrates for miles into the land ; and we are 
quite near the roaring. Before us rises a great mound of 
sand — a mountain we have long seen, and towards which 
we are wending our wajL driving slowly along through the 
deep sand. On this mountain of sand is a lofty old build- 
ing — the convent of Bprglum. In one of its wings (the 
larger one) there is still a church. And at this convent wo 
now arrive in the late evening hour; but the weather is 
clear in the bright June night around us. The eye can 
range far, far over field and moor to the bay of Aalborg, 
over heath and meadow, and far across the dark- blue sea. 


THE BISHOP OF BOPOLUM AND HIS WARPIORS. 353 

Now we are there, and roll past between barns and 
other farm-buildings ; and at the left of the gate we turn 
aside to the old Castle Farm, where the lime-trees stand in 
lines along the walls, and, sheltered from the wind and 
weather, grow so luxuriantly that their twigs and leaves 
almost conceal the windows. 

We mount the winding staircase of stone, and march 
through the long passages under the heavy roof-beams. The 
wind moans very strangely here, both within and without. 
It is hardly known how, but people say — yes, people say a 
great many thing when they are frightened or want to 
frighten others — they say that the old dead choir-men 
glide silently past us into the church, where Mass is sung. 
They can be heard in the rushing of the storm, and their 
singing brings up strange thoughts in the hearers — thoughts 
of the old times into which we are carried back. 

On the coast a ship is stranded ; and the bishop's war- 
riors are there, and spare not those whom the sea has 
spared. The sea washes away the blood that has flowed 
from cloven skulls. The stranded goods belong to the 
bishop, and there is a store of goods here. The sea casts 
up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for the convent 
cellar ; and in the convent is already good store of beer and 
mead. There is plenty in the kitchen — dead game and 
poultry, hams and sausages ; and fat fish swim in the ponds 
without. 

The Bishop of Borglum is a mighty lord. He has great 
possessions, but still he longs for more — every thing must 
bow before the mighty Olaf Glob. His rich cousin at Thy- 
land is dead, and his widow is to have the rich inheritance. 
But how comes it that one relation is always harder towards 
another than even strangers would be ? The widow's hus- 
band had possessed all Thyland, with the exception of the 
X 


354 


andeesen’s tales. 


Ohnreh property. Her son was not at home. In his boy 
hood ho liad already started on a journey, for his desire was 
to see foreig’n lands and strange people For years there 
had been no news of him. Perhaps he had long been laid 
in the grave, and would never come back to his home t0 
rule where his mother then ruled. 

“ What has a woman to do wdth rule said the bishop. 

He summoned the widow before a court ; but what did he 
gain thereby ? The widow had never been disobedient to 
the law, and was strong in her just rights. 

Bishop Olaf, of Borglum, what dost thou purpose ? What 
writest thou on yonder smooth parchment, sealing it with 
thy seal, and intrusting it to the horsemen and servants who 
ride away — far away — to the city of the Pope ? 

It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and 
soon icy wint^'r will come. 

Twice had icy winter returned before the bishop wel- 
comed the horsemen and servants back to their home. They 
came from Rome with a papal decree — a ban, or bull, against 
the widow who had dared to offend the pious bishop. 
“ Cursed be she, and all that belongs to her. Let her be 
expelled from the congregation and the Church. Let no 
man stretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and 
relations avoid her as a plague and a pestilence 

“ What will not bend must break,” said the Bishop ol 
Borglum. 

All forsake the widow ; but she holds fast to her Crod. 
He is her helper and defender. 

One servant only — an old maid — remained faithful to her ; 
and, with the old servant, the widow herself followed the 
plough ; and the crop grew, though the land had been 
cursed by the Pope and the bishop. 

“ Thou child of hell, I will yet carry out my purpose I’’ 


THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS.- 355 


cried the Bishop of Borglum. “Now will I lay the hand 
of the Pope upon thee, to summon thee before the tribunal 
that shall condemn thee I” 

Then did the widow yoke the two last oxen that remained 
to her to a wagon, and mounted upon the wagon, with her 
old servant, and travelled away across the heath out of the 
Danish land. As a stranger she came into a foreign couu’ 
try, where a strange tongue was spoken and where new 
customs prevailed. Further and further she journeyed, to 
where green hills rise into mountains, and the vine clothes 
their s^es. Strange merchants drive by her, and they 
look anxiously after their wagons laden with merchandise. 
They fear an attack from the armed followers of the robber- 
knights. The two poor women, in their humble vehicle 
drawn by two black oxen, travel fearlessly through the 
dangerous sunken road and through the, darksome forest. 
And now they were in Franconia. And there met them a 
stalwart knight, with a train of twelve followers. He 
paused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the 
women as to the goal of their journey and the place whence 
they came. Then one of them mentioned Thyland, in Den- 
mark, and spoke of her sorrows — of her woes — which were 
soon to cease; for so Divine Providence had willed it. For 
the stranger knight is the widow^s son. He seized her 
hand, he embraced her, and the mother wept. For years 
she had not been able to weep, but had only bitten her lips 
till the blood started. 

It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and 
soon will icy winter come. 

The sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop^s 
cellar. In the kitchen the deer roasted cm the spit before 
the fire. At Borglum it was warm and cheerful in the 
heated rooms, while cold winter raged without, when a 


356 


Andersen’s tales. 


piece of news was brought to the bishop : “Jens Glob, of 
Tliyland, has come back, and his mother with him.” Jena 
Glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summoned 
him before the temporal and the spiritual court. 

“ That will avail him little,” said the bishop. “Best leave 
off thy efforts, knight Jens.” 

Again it is the time of falling leaves, of stranded ships— 
icy winter comes again, and the “white bees” are swarm- 
ing, and sting the traveller’s face till they melt. 

“ Keen weather to-day,” say the people, as they step in. 

Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought ^that he 
singes the skirt of his wide garment. 

“Thou Borglum bishop,” he exclaims, “I shall subdue 
thee after all I Under the shield of the Pope, the law can- 
not reach thee ; but Jens Glob shall reach thee !” 

Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Base, 
in Sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christ- 
mas Eve, at Mass, in the church at Widberg. The bishop 
himself is to read the Mass, and consequently will journey 
from Borglum to Tliyland ; and this is known to Jens Glob. 

Moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. 
The marsh will bear horse and rider, the bishop with his 
priests and armed men. They ride the shortest way, 
through the waving reeds, where the wind moans sadly. 

Blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in foxskinl 
it sounds merrily in the clear air. So they ride on over 
heath and moorland — over what is the garden of Fata Mor- 
gana in the hot summer, though now icy, like all the coun- 
try — towards the church of Widberg. 

The wind is blowing his trumpet too — blowing it harder 
and harder. He blows up a storm — a terrible storm — that 
increases more and more. Towards the church they ride, 
as fast as they may through the storm. The church stands 


THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND IIIS WARRIORS. 857 

firm, but the storm careers on over field and moorland, ovin 
land and sea. 

Borglurn’s bishop reaches the church; but Olaf Hase wili 
scarce do so, hard as he may ride. He journeys with hi 
warriors on the further side of the bay, to help Jens Glob, 
now that the bishop is to be summoned before the judgment 
s('at of the Highest. 

The church is the judgment-hall ; the altar is the council 
table. The lights burn clear in the heavy brass candelabra 
The storm reads out the accusation and the sentence, roam- 
ing in the air over moor and heath, and over the rolling 
waters. No ferry-boat can sail over the bay in such weather 
as this. 

Olaf Hase makes halt at Ottesworde. There he dismisses 
his warriors, presents them with their horses and har- 
ness, and gives them leave to ride home and greet his wife. 
He intends to risk his life alone in the roaring waters ; but 
they are to bear witness for him that it is not his fault if Jens 
Glob stands without re-enforcement in the church at Wid- 
berg. The faithful warriors will not leave him, but follow 
him out into the deep waters. Ten of them are carried 
away; but Olaf Hase and two of the youngest men reach 
the further side. They have still four miles to ride. 

It is past midnight. It is Christmas. The wind has 
abated. The church is lighted up; the gleaming radiance 
shines through the window-frames, and pours out over 
meadow and heath. The Mass has long been finished, 
silence reigns in the church, and the wax is heard dropping 
from the candles to the stone pavement. And now Olaf 
Hase arrives. 

In the forecourt Jens Glob greets him kindly, and 
says : 

I have just made an agreement with the bishop.” 


3.58 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


“ Sayest thou so?” replied Olaf Hase. “Then neither 
thou nor the bishop shall quit this church alive.” 

And the sword leaps from the scabbard, and Olaf Hasc 
deals a blow that makes the panel of the church-door, 
which Jens Glob hastily closes between them, fly in frag- 
ments. 

“ Hold, brother I First hear what the agreement was 
that I made. I have slain the bishop and his warriors and 
priests. They will have no word more to say in the matter, 
nor will I speak again of all the wrong that my mother has 
endured.” 

The long wicks of the altar-lights glimmer red; but there 
is a redder gleam upon the pavement, where the bishop lies 
with cloven skull, and his dead warriors around him, in the 
quiet of the holy Cliristmas night. 

And four days afterwards the bells toll for a funeral in 
the convent of Borglum. The murdered bishop and the 
slain warriors and priests are displayed under a black 
canopy, surrounded by candelabra decked with crape. 
There lies the dead man, in the black cloak wrought with 
silver-, the crosier in the. powerless hand that was once so 
mighty. The incense rises in clouds, and the monks chant 
the funeral hymn. It sounds like a wail — it sounds like a 
sentence of wrath and condemnation that must be heard far 
over the land, carried by the wind — sung by the wind — the 
wail that sometimes is silent, but never dies; for ever again 
it rises in song, singing even into our own time this legend 
of the Bishop of Borglum and his hard nephew. It is heard 
in the dark night by the frightened husbandman, driving by 
in the heavy sandy road past the convent of Borglum. It 
IS heard by the sleepless listener in the thickly- walled rooms 
at Borglum. And not only to the ear of superstition is 
the sighiiig and the tread of hurrying feet audible in the 


THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS. 359 


long eclioiiig passages leading to the convent-door that has 
long been locked. The door still seems to open, and the 
lights seem to flame in the brazen candlesticks; the fra- 
grance of incense arises; the church gleams in its ancient 
splendor ; and the monks sing and say the Mass over the 
slain bishop, who lies there in the black silver-embroidered 
mantle, with the crozier in his powerless hand ; and on his 
pale proud forehead gleams the red wound like fire, and 
there burn the worldly mind and the wicked thoughts. 

Sink down into his grave — into oblivion — ^ye terrible 
shapes of the times of old I 

Hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above 
the rolling sea. A storm approaches without, calling aloud 
for human lives. The sea has not put on a new mind with 
the new time. This night it is a horrible pit to devour up 
lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be a glassy mirror — 
even as in the old time that we have buried. Sleep sweetly, 
if thou canst sleep ! 

Now it is morning. 

The new time flings sunshine into the room. The wind 
still keeps up mightily. A wreck is announced — as in the 
old time. 

During the night, down yonder by Loken, the little fish- 
ing village with the red-tiled roofs — we can see it up here 
from the window — a ship has come ashore. It has struck, 
and is fast imbedded in the sand; but the rocket apparatus 
nas thrown a rope on board, and formed a bridge from the 
wreck to the mainland; and all on board were saved, and 
reached the land, and were wrapped in warm blankets; and 
to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Bor- 
glum. In comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and 
friendly faces. They are addressed in the language of 


360 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


their coiin^ v, and the piano sounds for them with melodies 
of tlieir native land ; and before these have died away, and 
the chord has been struck, the wire of thought, that reaches 
to the land of the sufferers, announces that they are rescued. 
Then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they join in 
the dance at the feast given in the great hall at Borgluni. 
Waltzes and Styrian dances are given, and Danish popular 
songs, and melodies of foreign lands in these modern times. 

Blessed be thou, new time I Speak thou of summer and 
of purer gales 1 Send thy sunbeams gleaming into our 
hearts and thoughts I On thy glowing canvas let them be 
painted — the dark legends of the rough hard times that are 
past I 


THE SNOW-MAN. 

“ It’s so wonderfully cold that my whole body crackles T 
said the Snow-Man. “ This is a kind of wind that can 
blow life into one; and how the gleaming one up yonder is 
staring at me I” He meant the sun, which was just about 
to set. “ It shall not make me wink — I shall manage to 
keep the pieces.” 

He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head instead 
of eyes. His mouth was made of an old rake, and conse- 
quently was furnished with teeth. 

He had been born amid the joyous shouts of the boys, and 
welcomed by the sound of sledge-bells and the slashing of 
whips. 

The sun went down, and the full moon rose, round, large, 
/ elear, and beautiful in the blue air. 

“There it comes again from the other side,” said the 


THE SNOW-MAN. 


361 


Snow Man. He intended to say the sun is showing himself 
again. “Ah! I have cured him of staring. Now let him 
hang up there and shine, that I may see myself. If I only 
knew how I could manage to move from this place, I should 
like so much to move. If I could, I would slide along yon- 
der on the ice, just as I see the boys slide; but I don’t un- 
derstand it; I don’t know how to run.” 

“ Away 1 away I” barked the old Yard-Dog. He was 
quite hoarse, and could not pronounce the genuine “ bow, 
wow,” He had got the hoarseness from the time when he 
was an indoor dog, and lay by the fire. “ The sun will 
teach you to run 1 I saw that last winter, in your prede- 
cessor, and before that in his predecessor. Away I away I 
— and away they all go.” 

“ I don’t understand you, comrade,” said the Snow-Man. 
“ That thing up yonder is to teach me to run ?” He meant 
the moon. “ Yes, it was running itself when I saw it a 
little while ago, and now it comes creeping from the other 
side.” 

“You know nothing at all,” retorted the Yard-Dog. 
“ But then you’ve only just been patched up. What you 
see yonder is the moon, and the one that went before was 
the sun. It will come again to-morrow, and will teach you 
to run down into the ditch by the wall. We shall soon 
have a change of weather; I can feel that in my left hind 
leg, for it pricks and pains me : the weather is g( ing to 
change.” 

“ I don’t understand him,” said the Snow-Man ; “ but I 
have a feeling that he’s talking about something disagree- 
able. The one who stared so just now, and whom he called 
the sun, is not my friend. I can feel that, too.” 

“Away 1 away I” barked the Yard-Dog; and he turned 
round three times, and then crept into his kennel to sleep. 

16 


362 


AN-DERSEN'S TALES. 


Tlic weather really changed. Towards morning, a thick 
damp fog lay over the whole region; later there came a 
wind, an icy wind. The cold seemed quite to seize upon 
one ; but when the sun rose, what splendor I Trees and 
bushes were covered with hoar-frost, and looked like a com- 
plete forest of coral, and every twig seemed covered with 
gleaming white buds. The many delicate ramifications, 
concealed in summer by the wreath of leaves, now made 
their appearance : it seemed like a lace-work, gleaming 
white. A snowy radiance sprang from every twig. The 
birch waved in the wind — it had life, like the rest of the 
trees in summer. It was wonderfully beautiful. And when 
the sun shone, how it all gleamed and sparkled, as if dia- 
mond dust had been strewn everywhere, and big diamonds 
had been dropped on the snowy carpet of the earth ! or 
one could imagine that countless little lights were gleam- 
ing, whiter than even the snow itself. 

‘‘ That is wonderfully beautiful,” said a young girl, who 
came with a young man into the garden. They both stood 
still near the Snow-Man, and’ contemplated the glittering 
trees. “ Summer cannot show a more beautiful sight,” said 
she ; and her eyes sparkled. 

“And we canT have such a fellow as this in summer- 
time,” replied the young man, and he pointed to the Snow- 
Man. “ He is capital.” 

The girl laughed, nodded at the Snow-Man; and then 
danced away over the snow with her friend — over the snow 
that cracked and crackled under her tread as if she were 
walking o starch. 

“Who are those two ?” the Snow-Man inquired of the 
Yard-Dog. “ You’ve been longer in the yard than I. Do 
you know them?” 

“ Of course I know them,” replied the Yard-Dog. “ She 


THE SKOW-MAN. 


303 


has stroked me, and lie has thrown me a meat-bone. 1 doiTl 
bite those two.’’ 

“But what are they? asked the Snow-man. 

“ Lovers 1” replied the Yard-Dog. “ They will go to live 
in the same kennel, and gnaw at the same bone. Away? 
away 1’" 

“ Are they the same kind of beings as you and I ?” asked 
the Snow-Man. 

“ Why, they belong to the master,” retorted the Yard-Dog. 
“People certainly know very little who were only born 
yesterday. I can see that in you. I have age, and informa- 
tion. I know every one here in the house, and I know a 
time when I did not lie out here in the cold, fastened to a 
chain. Away ! away I” 

“The cold is charming,” said the Snow-Man. “Tell me, 
tell me. But you must not clank with your chain, for it 
jars within me when you do that.” 

“Away ! away !” barked the Yard-Dog. “They told me 
I was a pretty little fellow : then I used to lie in a chair 
covered with velvet, up in master’s house, and sit in the 
lap of the mistress of all. They used to kiss my nose, 
and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief. 
I was called ‘ Ami — dear Ami — sweet Ami.’ But afterwards 
I grew too big for them, and they gave me away to the 
housekeeper. So I came to live in the basement story. You 
can look into that from where you are standing, and you 
can sec into the room where I was master ; for I was mas- 
ter at the housekeeper’s. It was certainly a smaller place 
than up-stairs, but I was more comfortable, and was not 
continually taken hold of and pulled about by children, as I 
had been. I received just as good food as ever, and even 
better. 1 had my own cushion, and there was a stove, the 
finest thing in the world at this season. I went under the 


ANDERSEN'S TAIiES. 


8()i 

stove, and could lie down quite beneath it. Ah I I still 
di •earn of tliat stove. Away I away !” 

“ Does a stove look so beautiful asked the Snow-Maa 
“ Is it at all like me 

“ It’s just the reverse of you. It^s as black as a crow^ 
and has a long neck and brazen drum. It eats firewood, 
so that the fire spurts out of its mouth. One must keep at 
its side, or under it, and there one is very comfortable. You 
can see it through the window from where you stand.” 

And the Snow-Man looked and saw a bright polished 
thing with a brazen drum, and the fire gleamed from the 
lower part of it. The Snow-Man felt quite strangely : an 
odd emotion came over him, he knew not what it meant, 
and could not account for it ; but all people who are not 
snow-men know the feeling. 

“ And why did you leave her ?” asked the Snow-Man, foi 
it seemed to him that the stove must be of the female sex. 
“How could you quit such a comfortable place ?” 

“I was obliged,” replied the Yard-Dog. “They turned 
me out of doors, and chained me up here. I had bitten the 
youngest young master in the leg, because he kicked away 
the bone I was gnawing. ‘ Bone for bone,^ I thought. They 
took that very much artiiss, and from that time I have been 
fastened to a chain and have lost my voice. Don’t you 
hear how hoarse I am? Away I away ! I can’t talk any 
more like other dogs. Away I awav ! that was the end of 
the affair.” 

But the Snow-Man was no longer listening to him. He 
was looking in at the housekeeper’s basement lodging, into 
the room where the stove stood on its four legs, just the 
same size as the Snow-Man himself. 

“ What a strange crackling within me 1” he said. “ Shall 
I ever get in there ? It is an innocent wish, and our inno 


THE SNOW-MAN. 


365 


cent wishes are certain to be fulfilled. I must go in there 
and lean against her, even if I have to break through 
the window.’^ 

“ You will never get in there,” said the Yard-Dog ; “ and 
if you approach the stove youdl melt away — away !” 

“ I am as good as gone,” replied the Snow-Man. “ J 
think I am breaking up.” 

The whole day the Snow-Man stood looking in through 
the window. In the twilight hour the room became still 
more inviting : from the stove came a mild gleam, not like 
the sun nor like the moon ; no, it was only as the stove can 
glow when he has something to eat. When the room-door 
opened, the flame started out of his mouth ; this was a habit 
the stove had. The flame fell distinctly on the white face 
of the Snow-Man, and gleamed red upon his bosom. 

“ I can endure it no longer,” said he ; “ how beautiful it 
looks when it stretches out its tongue I” 

The night was long ; but it did not appear long to the 
Snow-Man, who stood there lost in his own charming reflec- 
tions, crackling with the cold. 

In the morning the window-panes of the basement lodging 
were covered with ice. They bore the most beautiful ice- 
flowers that any snow-man could desire ; but they concealed 
the stove. The window-panes would not thaw ; he could 
not see the stove, which he pictured to himself as a lovely 
female being. It crackled and whistled in him and around 
liim ; it was just the kind of frosty weather a snow-man 
must thoroughly enjoy. But he did not enjoy it ; and, in- 
deed, how could he enjoy himself when he was stove-sick ? 

“Hiatus a terrible disease for a Snow-Man,” said the Yard- 
Dog. “ I have suffered from it myself, but I got over it 
Away 1 away I” he barked ; and he added, “ The weathei 
is going to change.” 


366 


A^^DERSEN’S TALES. 


And the weather did change ; it began to thaw. 

The warmth increased, and the Snow-Man decreased. H« 
said nothing, and ma^ie no complaint — and that’s an infal- 
lible sign. 

One morning he brc^e down. And behold, where ho liad 
stood, something like h . broomstick remained sticking np 
out ('f the ground. It was the pole round which the boys 
had built him up. 

‘‘Ah, now I can und^vstand why he had snch an intense 
longing,” said the Yard-Oog. Why, there’s a shovel for 
cleaning out the stove fastened to the pole, ^'he Snow-Man 
had a stove-rake in his body, and that’s what moved within 
him. Now he has got over ^hat t(>o. Away I 1” 

And soon they had got ove^* the tvinter. 

“ Away I, away !” barked tV^* h'>ar3e Yard-Dog but the 
girls in the house sang : 

“ Green thyme 1 from yonr houre come out ; 

Willow, your woolly fingaro g'trotcb out ; 

Lark and cuckoo cheerfully sing, 

For in February is coming the spring. 

And with the cuckoo I’ll sing too, 

Come thou, dear sun, come out, cuckoo!” 

And nobody thought any more of the Snow-Man. 


TWO MAIDENS. 

Have you ever seen a maiden ? I mean what ou> 
call a maiden, a thing with which they ram down the pav- 
ing-stones in the roads. A maiden of this kind is made al- 
together of wood, broad below, and girt round with iron 
rings ; at the top she is narrow, and has a stick passed 


TWO MAIDENS. 


307 


across through her waist ; and this stick forms the arms Oi 
the maiden. 

In the shed stood two maidens of this kind. They had 
their place among shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and 
measuring-tapes ; and to all this company the news had 
come that the maidens were no longer to be called 
“maidens,” but “hand-rammers which wo)d was the new- 
est and the only correct designation among the paviors for 
the thing we all know from the old times by the name of 
“ the maiden.” 

Now, there are among us human creatures certain indi- 
viduals who are known as “ emancipated women ;” as, for 
instance, principals of institutions, dancers who stand pro- 
fessionally on one leg, milliners, and sick-nurses ; and with 
this class of emancipated women, the two maidens in the 
shed associated themselves. They were “ maidens” among 
the pavior folk, and determined not to give up this honor- 
able appellation, and let themselves be miscalled ram- 
mers. 

“Maiden is a human name, but hand-rammer is a thing, 
and we woiiT be called things — that's insulting us.” 

“ My lover would be read}^ to give up his engagement,” 
said the youngest, whcwvas betrothed to a pavior's hammer; 
and the hammer is the thing which drives great piles into 
the earth, like a machine, and therefore does on a large 
scale what ten maidens effect in a smaller way. “ He wants 
to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have me, 
were I a hand-rammer, is a question ; so I won't have my 
came changed.” 

“And I,” said the elder one, “ would rather have both 
my arms broken off.” 

But the wheelbarrow was of a different opinion; and the 
wheelbarrow was looked upon as of some conse([uence, foj 


36S 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


he considered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went 
about upon one wheel. 

I must submit to your notice,” he said, “ that the name 
‘ maiden^ is common enoug’h, and not nearly so refined as 
hand-rammer,’ or ‘ stamper,’ which latter has also been 
proposed, and through which you would be introduced into 
the category of seals; and only think of the great stamp of 
state, which impresses the royal seal that gives effect to 
the laws ! No, in your case I would surrender my maiden 
name.” 

“ No, certainly not I” exclaimed the elder. “ I am too 
old for that.” 

I presume you have never heard of what is called ‘ Eu- 
ropean necessity ?’ ” observed the honest measuring tape. 

One must be able to adapt one’s self to time and circum- 
stances, and if there is a law that the ‘ maiden’ is to be 
called ‘ hand-rammer,’ why, she must be called ‘ hand-ram- 
mer,’ and no pouting will avail, for every thing has its 
measure.” 

“ No, if there must be a change,” said the younger, “ I 
should prefer to be called ‘ Missy,’ for that reminds one a 
little of maidens.” 

“ But I would rather be chopped to chips,” said the 
elder. . 

At last they all went to work. The maidens rode — that 
is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinc- 
tion; but still they were called “ hand-rammers.” “ Mai — I” 
Hiey said, as they were bumped upon the pavement. 
* Mai — I” and they were very nearly pronouncing the 
whole word “ maiden;” but they broke off short, and swal- 
lowed the last syllable; for after mature deliberation they 
considered it beneath their dignity to protest. But they 
always called each other “ maiden,” and praised the good 


THE FARMYARD COCK. 


369 


old days in which every thing had been called by its right 
name, and those who were maidens were called maidens 
And they remained as they were; for the hammer really 
broke off his engagement with the younger one, for nothing 
would suit him but he must have a maiden for his bride. 


THE FAEMTAKD COCK AND THE WEATH- 
EECOCK. 

There were two Cocks — one on the dunghill, the other on 
the roof Both were conceited; but which of the two ef- 
fected most ? Tell us your opinion ; but we shall keep our 
own, nevertheless. 

The poultry-yard was divided by a partition of boards 
from another yard, in which lay a manure-heap, whereon 
lay and grew a great Cucumber, which was fully conscious 
of being a forcing- bed plant. 

“ ThaBs a privilege of birth,” the Cucumber said to her- 
self “Not all can be born cucumbers; there must be 
other kinds too. The fowls, the ducks, and all the cattle in 
the neighboring yard are creatures too. I now look up to 
the Yard-Cock on the partition. He certainly is of much 
greater consequence than the Weathercock, who is so 
highly placed, and who canT even creak, much less crow; 
and he has neither hens nor chickens, and thinks only of 
himself, and perspires ^^erdigris. But the Yard-Cock — he’s 
something like a cock 1 His gait is like a dance, his crow- 
ing is music; and wherever he comes, it is known directly. 
What a trumpeter he is I If he would only come in here ( 
y 16 * 


370 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


Even if he were to eat me up, stalk and all, it would be a 
blissful death,” said the Cucumber. 

In the night the weather became very bad. Hens, chick- 
ens, and even the Cock himself sought shelter. The wind 
blew down the partition between the two yards with a 
crash; the tiles came tumbling down, but the weathercock 
sat firm. He did not even turn round; he could not turn 
round, and yet he was young and newly cast, but steady 
and sedate. He had been “ born old,” and did not at all 
resemble the birds that fly beneath the vault of heaven, such 
as the sparrows and the swallows. , He despised those, 
considering them piping birds of trifling stature — ordinarj- 
song-birds. The pigeons, he allowed, were big and shining, 
and gleamed lik-e rnother-o’-pearl, and looked like a kind ot 
weathercocks; but then they were fat and stupid, and their 
whole endeavor was to fill themselves with food. “ More- 
over, they are tedious things to converse with,” said the 
Weathercock. 

The birds of passage had also paid a visit to the Weath- 
ercock, and told him tales of foreign lands, of airy caravans, 
and exciting robber stories; of encounters with birds of 
prey; and that was interesting for the first time, but the 
Weathercock knew that afterwards they always repeated 
themselves, and that was tedious. “ They are tedious, and 
all is tedious,” he said. “No one is fit to associate with, 
and one and all of them are wearisome and stupid.” 

“ The world is worth nothing,” he cried. “ The whole 
thing is a stupidity.” 

The Weathercock was what is called “ used up;” and that 
quality would certainly have made him interesting in the 
eyes of the Cucumber if she bad known it ; but she had 
only eyes for the Yard-Cock, who had now actually coma 
into her own yard. 


THE FARMYARD COCK. 


371 


The wind had blowji down the plank, but the storm ha<l 
passed over. 

“What do yon think of that crowing-?” the Yard-Cock 
inquired of his hens and chickens. “It was a little rougl? 
— the elegance was wanting.” 

And hens and chickens stepped upon the muck-heap, and 
the Cock strutted to and fro on it like a knight. 

“Garden plant I” he cried out to the Cucumber; and in 
this one word she understood his deep feeling, and forgol 
that he was pecking at her and eating her up — a happy 
death I 

And the hens came, and the chickens came, and when 
one of them runs the rest run also ; and they clucked and 
chirped, and looked at the Cock, and were proud that he 
was of their kind. 

“ Cock-a-doodle-doo I” he crowed. “ The chickens will 
grow up large fowls if I make a noise in, the poultry-yard 
of the world.” 

And hens and chickens clucked and chirped, and the Cock 
told them a great piece of news : 

“A cock can lay an egg; and do you know what there 
is in that egg? In that egg lies a basilisk. No one can 
stand the sight of a basilisk. Men know that, and now 
you know it too — you know what is in me, and what a 
cock of the world I am.” 

And with this the Yard-Cock flapped his wings, and made 
his comb swell up, and crowed again ; and all of them 
shuddered— all the hens and the chickens; but they were 
proud that one of their people should be such a cock of the 
world. They clucked and chirped, so that the Weather- 
cock heard it; and he heard it, but he never stirred. 

“ ICs all stupid stuflf !” said a voice within the Weather- 
cock. “The Yard-Cock does not lay eggs, and I am tor. 


572 


AjTDKRSEN’S tales. 


lazy to lay any. If f liked, I could lay a w'ind-eg’g ; but 
the world is not worth a wind-egg. And now I don^t like 
even to sit here any longer.” 

And with this the Weathercock broke off; but he did not 
kill the Yard-Oock, though he intended to do so, as the hens 
declared. And what does the moral say ? — “ Better to crow 
than to be ‘ used up’ and break off” 


THE PEN AND INKSTAND. 

In the room of a poet, where his inkstand stood upon the 
table, it was said, “ It is wonderful what can come out of 
an inkstand. What will the next thing be ? It is won- 
derful !” 

“ Yes, certainly,” said the Inkstand. “ It’s extraordinary 
— that’s what I alwa3^s say,” he exclaimed to the pen and 
to the other articles on the table that were near enough to 
hear. “ It is wonderful what a number of things can come 
out of me. It’s quite incredible. And I really don’t myself 
know what will be the next thing, when that man begins 
to dip into me. One drop out of me is enough for half a 
page of paper ; and what cannot be contained in half a 
page ? From me all the works of the poet go forth— all 
these living men, whom people can imagine they have met 
— all the deep feeling, the humor, the vivid pictures of 
nature. I myself don’t understand how it is, for I am not 
acquainted with nature, but it certainly is in me. From n^e 
all these things have gone forth, and from me proceed the 
troops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on 
prancing steeds, and all the lame and the blind, and I don’t 
know what more — I assure you I don’t think of any tiling.^* 


THE PEN- 7\NT) TNKSTANT). 


873 


“There you are rig-ht/’ said the Pen; “you don’t tlijrik at 
all ; for if 3^011 did, you would comprehend that you only 
furnish the fluid. You give the fluid, that I may exhibit 
upon the paper what dwells in me, and what I would bring 
to the day. It is the pen that writes. No man doubts 
that; and, indeed, most people have about as much insight 
into poetry as an old inkstand.” 

“You have but little experience,” replied the Inkstand. 
“ YouVe hardly been in service a week, and arc already 
half worn out. Do 3'ou fancy you are the poet ? You are 
only a servant; and before you came I had many" of your 
sorts, some of the goose family, and others of English manu- 
facture. I know th^ quill as well as the steel pen. Many 
have beep in my service, and I shall have many more when 
he comes — the man who goes through the motions for me, 
and writes down what he derives from me. I should like to 
know what will be the next thing he’ll take out of me.” 

“ Inkpot !” exclaimed the Pen. 

Late in the evening the poet came home. He had been 
to a concert, where he had heard a famous violinist, with 
whose admirable performances he was quite enchanted. 
The pla^mr had drawn a wonderful wealth of tone from the 
instrument : sometimes it had sounded like tinkling water- 
drops, like rolling pearls, sometimes like birds twittering in 
chorus, and then again it went swelling on like the wind 
through the fir-trees. The poet thought he heard his own heart 
weeping, but weeping melodiously, like the sound of woman’s 
voice. It seemed as though not only the strings sounded, but 
every part of the instrument. It was a wonderful perform- 
ance ; and difficult as the piece was, the bow seemed to 
glide easily to and fro over the strings, and it looked as 
though every one might do it. The violin seemed to sound 
af itself, and the bow to move of itself — those two appeared 


374 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


to do every thing; and the audience forgot the master who 
guided Them and breathed soul and spirit into tlicm. Tlie 
master was forgotten; but the poet remembered liim, and 
named him, and wrote down his thoughts concerning the 
Bubject : 

How foolish it would be of the violin and the bow to 
boast of their achievements. And yet we men often commit 
this folly — the poet, the artist, the laborer in the domain ol 
science, the general — we all do it. We are only the instru- 
ments which the Almighty uses : to Him alone be the 
honor ! We have nothing of which we should be proud.” 

Yes, that is what the poet wrote down. He wrote it in 
the form of a parable, which he called “ The Master and the 
Instrument.” 

“ That is what you get, madam,” said the Pen to the Ink- 
stand, when the two were alone again. “ Did you not hear 
him read aloud what I have written down ?” 

“Yes, what I gave you to write,” retorted the Inkstand. 
“That was a cut at you, because of your conceit. That 
you should not even have understood that j^ou were being 
quizzed ! I gave you a cut from within me — surely I must 
know my own satire I” 

“ Ink-pipkin 1” cried the Pen. 

“ W riting-stick !” cried the Inkstand. 

And each of them felt a conviction that he had answered 
well ; and it is a pleasing conviction to feel that one has 
given a good answer — a conviction on which one can sleep; 
and accordingly they slept upon it. But the poet did not 
sleep. Thoughts welled up from within him, like the tones 
from the violin, falling like pearls, rushing like the storm- 
wind through the forests. He understood his own heart in 
these thong] its, and caught a ray from the Eternal Master. 

To Him be all the honor 1 


374 


THE GUILD IN THE GRAVE. 


THE CHILD IN THE GEAYE. 

There was mourning in the house, sorrow in every heart 
The youngest child, a boy four years old, the joy and hope 
of his parents, had died. There still remained to them two 
daughters, the elder of whom was about to be confirmed — 
good, charming girls both; but the cliild that one has lost 
always seems the dearest; and here it was the youngest, 
and a son. It was a jieavy trial. The sisters mourned as 
young hearts can, and were especially moved at the sight 
of their parents^ sorrow. The father was bowed down, and 
the mother completely struck down by the great grief. 
Day and night she had been busy about the sick child, and 
had tended, lifted, and carried it; she had felt how it was a 
part of herself. She could not realize that the child was 
dead, and that it must be laid in a coffin and sleep in the 
ground. She thought God could not take this child from 
her; and when it was so, nevertheless, and there could be 
no more doubt on the subject, she said in her feverish pain : 

“ God did not know it. He has heartless servants here 
on earth, who do according to their own liking, and hear 
not the prayers of a mother.” 

In her grief she fell away from God, and then there came 
dark thoughts, thoughts of death, of everlasting death, that 
man was but dust in the dust, and that with this life all 
was ended. But these thoughts gave her no stay, nothing on 
which she could take hold ; and she sank into the fathomless 
abyss of despair. 

In her heaviest hours she could weep no more, and she 
thought not of the young daughters who were still left to 
her. The tears of her husband fell upon her forehead, but 


376 


ANDERSEN’S TALES. 


she did not look at him. Her thoughts were with the dead 
child ; her whole thought and being were fixed upon it, to 
call back every remembrance of the little one, every irno 
cent childish word it had uttered. 

The day of the funeral came. For nights before the 
mother had not slept ; but in the morning twilight she 
now slept, overcome by weariness ; and in the mean time 
the coffin was carried into a distant room, and there nailed 
down, that she might not hear the blows of the hammer. 

When she awoke and wanted to see her child, the hus- 
band said : 

“We have nailed down the coffin. It was necessary to 
do so.” 

“ When God is hard towards me, how should men be 
better ?” she said, with sobs and groans. 

The coffin was carried to the grave. The disconsolate 
mother sat with her young daughters. She looked at her 
daughters, and yet did not see them, for her thoughts were 
no longer busy at the domestic hearth. She gave herself 
up to her grief, and grief tossed her to and fro as the sea 
tosses a ship without compass or rudder. So the day of 
the funeral passed away, and similar days followed, of dark, 
wearying pain. With moist eyes and mournful glances, 
the sorrowing daughters and the afflicted husband looked 
upon her who would not hear their words of comfort ; and, 
indeed, what words of comfort could they speak to her, 
when they themselves were heavily bowed down ? 

It seemed as though she knew sleep no more ; and yet 
he would now have been her best friend, who would have 
strengthened her body, and poured peace into her soul. 
They persuaded her to seek her couch, and she lay still 
there, like one who slept. One night her husband was 
listening, as he often did, to her breathing, and fully be* 


THE CHILD IN THE GEAVE. 


377 


lk?ved that she had now found rest and relief. He folded 
his arms and prayed, and soon sank into a deep health;^ 
sleep ; and thus he did not notice that his wife rose, thre^ 
on her clothes, and silently glided from the house, to go 
where her thoughts always lingered — to the grave which 
held her child. She stepped through the garden of the 
house, and over the fields, where a path led to the church 
yard. No one saw her on her walk — she had seen nobodj , 
for her eyes were fixed upon the one goal of her journey. 

It was a lovely starlight night ; the air was still mild ; it 
was in the beginning of September. She entered the 
churchyard, and stood by the little grave, which looked like 
a great nosegay of fragrant flowers. She sat down, and 
bowed her head low over the grave, as if she could have 
seen her child through the intervening earth, her little boy, 
whose smile rose so vividly before her — the gentle expres- 
sion of whose eyes, even on the sick-bed, she could never 
forget. How eloquent had that glance been, when she had 
bent over him, and seized his delicate hand, which he had 
no longer strength to raise I As she had sat by his crib, so 
she now sat by his grave, but here her tears had free course, 
and fell thick upon the grave. 

“ Thou wouldst gladly go down and be with thy child,” said 
a voice quite close to her, a voice that sounded so clear 
and deep, it went straight to her heart. She looked up ; 
and near her stood a man wrapped in a black cloak, with a 
hood drawn closely down over his face. But she glanced 
keenly up, and saw his face under his hood. It was stern, 
but yet awakened confidence, and his eyes beamed with the 
radiance of youth. 

“ Down to my child I” she repeated ; and a despairing 
supplication spoke out of her words. 

“ Barest thou follow me,” asked the form. “ I am Death ^ 


378 


Andersen’s tales. 


And sbe bowed her head in acquiescence. ' Then suddenly 
it seemed as though all the stars were shining with the 
radiance of the full moon ; she saw the varied colors ol 
the flowers on the grave, and the covering of earth was 
gradually withdrawn like a floating drapery ; and she 
sank down, and the apparition covered her with a black 
cloak ; night closed around her, the night of death, and she 
sank deeper than the sexton^s spade can penetrate ; and 
the churchyard was as a roof over her head. 

A corner of the cloak was removed, and she stood in a 
great hall which spread wide and pleasantly around. It 
was twilight. But in a moment her child appeared, and was 
pressed to her heart, smiling at her in greater beauty than 
he had ever possessed. She uttered a cry, but it was in- 
audible. A glorious swelling strain of music sounded in 
the distance, and then near to her, and then again in the 
distance : never had such tones fallen on her ear ; they 
came from beyond the great darS curtain which separated 
the hall from the great land of e'.ernity beyond. 

“ My sweet darling mother,” she heard her child say. It 
was the well-known, muck-loved voice, and kiss followed 
kiss in boundless felicity ; and the child pointed to the dark 
curtain. 

“It is not so beautiful on earth. Do you see, mother-- 
do you see them all ? Oh, that is happiness !” 

But the mother saw nothing which the child pointed out 
— nothing but the dark night. She looked with earthly 
eyes, and could not see as the child saw, which God had 
called to Himself. She could hear the sounds of the music, 
but she heard not the word — the Word in which she was to 
believe. 

“Now I can fly, mother — I can fly with all the other 
happy children into the presence of the Almighty. I would 


THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE. 


379 


fain fly ; bat, if you weep as you are weeping- now, ] 
might be lost to you — and yet I would .go so gladly. May 
1 not fly ? And you will come to me soon — will you not, 
dear mother ?” 

“Oh, stay 1 stay 1” entreated the mother. “ Only one 
moment more— only once more I should wish to look at thee, 
and kiss thee, and press thee in my arms.” 

And she kissed and fondled the child. Then her name 
was called from above — called in a plaintive voice. What 
might this mean ? 

“ Hearest thou asked the child. “ It is my father who 
calls thee.” 

And in a few moments deep sighs were heard, as of weep- 
ing children. 

“ They arc my sisters,” said the child. “ Mother, you 
surely have not forgotten them?” 

And then she remembered those she had left behind. A 
great terror came upon her. She looked out into the night, 
and above her dim forms were flitting past. She seemed to 
recognize a few more of these. They floated through the 
Hall of Death towards the dark curtain, and there they van- 
ished. Would her husband and her daughters thus flit past? 
No, their sighs and lamentations still sounded from above : 
— and she had been nearly forgetting them for the sake of 
him who was dead ! 

“Mother, now the bells of heaven are ringing,” said the 
child. “ Mother, now the sun is going to rise.” 

And an overpowering light streamed in upon her. The 
child had vanished, and she was borne upwards. It be^ 
came cold round about her, and she lifted up her head, and 
saw that she was lying in the churchyard, on the grave of 
her child. 

Hut the Lord had been a stay unto her feet, in a dream, 


380 


ANDERSEN'S TALES. 


and a light to her spirit ; and she bowed her knees and 
prayed for £)rgiveness that she had wished to keep back 
a soul from its immortal flight, and that she had forgotten 
her duties towards the living who were left to her. 

And when she had spoken those words, it was as if her 
heart wore lightened. Then the sun burst forth, and over 
her head a little bird sang out, and the chureh-bells sounded 
for early service. Every thing was holy around her, and 
ner heart was chastened. She acknowledged the goodness 
of God, she acknowledged the duties she had to perform, 
and eagerly she went home. She bent over her husband, 
who still slept ; her warm devoted kiss awakened him, and 
heartfelt words of love came from the lips of both. And 
she was gentle and strong, as a wife can be ; and from her 
oauiC the consoling words : 

“ God’s will is always the best.” 

Then her husband asked her : 

“ From whence hast thou all at once derived this strength 
—this feeling of consolation V’ 

And she kissed him, and kissed her children, and said ; 

“ They came from God, through the child in the grave.** 


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2 Parts, each 15 

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189. Scottish Chiefs, Part I.. 20 
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206. Cast up by the Sea 20 

207. Mill on the Floss, Part T.15 
Mill on the Floss, P’t II . 15 

208. Brother Jacob, etc 10 

209. The Executor 20 

210. American Notes 15 

211. The Newcomes, Part I. .20 
The Newcomes, Part 1 1 . 20 

212. The Privateersman 20 

213. The Three Feathers. .. .20 

214. Phantom Fortune 20 

215. The Red Eric 20 

216. Lady Silverdale’s Sweet- 

heart 10 

217. The Four Macnicol’s. ..10 

2 1 8. Mr. PisistratusBrown ,M. P.io 

219. Dombeyand Son, Part 1 . 20 
Dombey and Son, Part II. 20 

220. Book of Snobs 10 

221. F airy Tales, Illustrated . . 20 

222. The Disowned 20 

223. Little Dorrit, Part 1 20 

Little Dorrit, Part II ... .20 

224. Abbotsford and New- 

stead Abbey 10 

225. Oliver Goldsmith, Black 10 

226. The Fire Brigade 20 

227. Rifle and Hound in Cey- 
lon 20 

228. Our Mutual Friend, P’t 1 . 20 
OurMutualFriend,P’t 11.20 

229. Paris Sketches 15 

230. Belinda 20 

231. Nicholas Nickleby,P’t 1 . 20 
NicholasNickleby,P’t 11.20 

232. Monarch of Mincing 

Lane 20 

233. Eight Years’ Wanderings 

in Ceylon 20 

234. Pictures from Italy 15 

235. Adventures of Philip, Pt L15 
Adventures of Philip, Pt IL15 

236. Knickerbocker History 

. oi New York 


237. The Boy at Mugby 10 

238. The Virginians, Part I.. 20 
The Virginians, Part II. 20 

239. Erling the Bold 20 

240. KeneTm Chillingly 20 

241. Deep Down 20 

242. Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

243. Gautran 20 

244. Bleak House, Part I 20 

Bleak House, Part II.. .20 

245. What Will He Do With 

It ? 2 Parts, each 20 

246. Sketches ofY oungCouples. 10 

247. Devereux 20 

248. Life of Webster, Part 1 . 15 
V Life of Webster, Pt. II. 15 

249. The Crayon Papers 20 

250. The Caxtons, Part I .... 15 
The Caxtons, Part II ... 1 5 

251. Autobiography of An- 

thony Trollope 20 

252. Critical Reviews, etc. ... lo 

253. Lucretia 20 

254. Peter the Whaler 20 

255. Last of the Barons. Pt 1 . 15 
Last of the Barons, Pt. 1 1 . 15 

256. Eastern Sketches 15 

257. All in a Garden Fair. . . .20 

258. File No. 1 13 20 

259. The Parisians, Part I... 20 
The Parisians, Part II.. 20 

260. Mrs. Darling’s Letters. . .20 

261. Master Humphrey’s 

Clock 10 

262. Fatal Boots, etc 10 

263. The Alhambra 15 

264. The Four Georges 10 

265. Plutarch’s Lives, 5 Pts. $1. 

266. Under the Red Flag. ... 10 

267. TheHaunted House, etc. 10 

268. When the Ship Comes 

Home 10 

269. One False, both Fair.... 20 

270. The Mudfog Papers, etc. 10 

271. My Novel, 3 Parts, each.20 

272. Conquest of Granada. ..20 

273. Sketches by Boz 20 

274. A Christmas Carol, etc. . 15 

275. lone Stewart 20 

276. Harold, 2 Parts, each. . . 15 

277. Dora Thorne 20 

278. Maid of Athens. 20 

279. Conquest of Spain 10 

280. Fitzboodle Papers, etc. . 10 

281. Bracebridge Hall 20 

282. Uncommercial Traveller.20 

283. Roundabout Papers 20 

284. Rossmoyne .20 

285. A Legend of the Rhine, 

etc 10 

286. Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

287. Beyond Pardon 20 

288. Somebody’sLuggage,etc. 10 

289. Godolphin 

290. Salmagundi 20 

291. Famous Funny Fellows. 20 

292. Irish Sketches, etc 20 

293. The Battle of Life, etc... 10 

294. Pilgrims of the Rhine ... 15 

295. Random Shots 20 

296. Men’s Wives.. 10 

297. Mysteiy of Edwin Drood.20 


298. Reprinted Pieces 20 

2 99. Astoria 20 

300. Novels by Eminent Handsio 

301. Companions of Columbus2o 

302. No Thoroughfare 10 

303. Character Sketches, etc. 10 

304. Christmas Books 20 

305. A Tour on the Prairies... 10 

306. Ballads 15 

307. Yellowplush Papers 10 

308. Life of Mahomet, Part 1 . 15 
Life of Mahomet, Pt. II. 15 

309. Sketches and Travels in 

t London 

310. Oliver Goldsmith,Irving.20 

3 i I. Captain Bonneville .... 20 

312. Golden Girls 20 

313. English Humorists 15 

314. Moorish Chronicles 10 

315. Winifred Power 20 

316. Great Hoggarty Diamond 10 

317. Pausanias 

318. The New AbelarcL . . . . 20 

319. A Real Queen 20 

320. The Rose and the Ring.20 

321. Wolfert’s Roost and Mis- f 

cellanies, by Irving •• • • 10 

322. Mark SeawoVth 20 

323. Life of Paul Jones 

324. Round the World 20 

325. Elbow Room 20 

326. The Wizard’s Son 25 

327. Harry Lorrequer 20 

328. How It All Came Round.20 

329. Dante Rosetti’s Poems. 20 

330. The Canon’s Ward 20 

331. Lucile, by O. Meredith. 20 

332. Every Day Cook Book. . 20 

333. Lays of Ancient Rome . . 20 

334. Life of Burns 20 

335. The Young Foresters. . .20 

336. John Bull andHis Island 20 

337. Salt Water, by Kingston. 20 

338. The Midshipman 20 

339. Proctor’s Poems 20 

340. Clayton’s Rangers 20 

341. Schiller’s Poems 20 

342. Goethe’s Faust 20 

343. Goethe’s Poems 20 

344. Life of Thackeray 10 

345. Dante’s Vision of Hell, 
Purgatory and Paradise . . 20 

346. An Interesting Case 20 

347. Life of Byron, Nichol. . . 10 

348. Life of Bunyan 10 

349. Valerie’s Fate 10 

350. Grandfather Lickshingle. 20 

35 X. Lays of the Scottish Ca- 
valiers 20 

352. Willis’ Poems 20 

353. Tales of the French Re- 

volution 15 

354. Loom and Lugger ... ...20 

355. More Leaves from a Life 

in the Highlands. 15 

356. Hygiene of the Brain. ..25 

357. Berkeley the Banker 20 

358. Homes Abroad 15 

359. Scott’s Lady of the Lake, 

with notes..^ 29 

360. Modem Christianity a 

' civilized Heathenism.. .. 15 


THE CELEBRATED 


? ( y 



StEHIB 




Grand, Square and Uprigli^ 




PIANOFORTES. 


Tlie demands now made by an educated musical public are so exacting that very fe^ 
Pianoforte Manufacturers can produce Instruments tnat will stand the test which merJ 
requires. SOHMER & CO., as Manufacturers, rank amongst these chosen few, who aii 
acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In these days, when Manufacture!; 
urge the low price of their wares rather than their superior quality as an inducement ti 
purchase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a Piano, quality and price are too in 
separably ioiued to expect the one without the other. i 

Every Piano ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its touch, and its work; 
ruanship; if any one of these is wanting in excellence, however good the others may be 
the instrumcni will be imperfect. It is the combination of these qualities in the highes 
degree that r onstitutes the perfect Piano, and it is this combination that has given thi 
“ SOHMER ” ..ts honorable position with the trade and the public. 

Received First Prize Centennial Exhibitioiij Philadelphia) 1876. 
Received First Prize at Exhibition* Montreal, Canada, 1881 & 18^ 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, |||| 

149-165 E. 14th St., New York 

















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